


The Grant

by Apollonia_Deserved_Better



Category: IT Crowd
Genre: Characters Reading Fanfiction, Characters Writing Fanfiction, Computer nerds, Computers, Doctor Who References, Dorks in Love, F/M, Falling In Love, Fangirls, Film Buff, Funny, In Character, Literary References & Allusions, Major Plotline Involving S2E1 ("The Work Outing"), Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Movie Poster, Movie Reference, Office Romance, References to Canon, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Fluff, Star Wars References, Stranger Things (TV 2016) References, Trying to keep everyone as in-character as I can because they're all just too good, Wes Anderson References, film nerd, hard ships, recreational alcohol use, ships that will kill you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-04-03 19:43:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14003295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apollonia_Deserved_Better/pseuds/Apollonia_Deserved_Better
Summary: Another employee is hired to work in the IT Department at Reynholm Industries. Fortunately for Jen, it's another "feminine influence". Unfortunately for Jen, it's another standard nerd!





	1. Standard Nerds

It was a dreary Monday morning in IT, as usual. No one had called all day, not even to meet Roy’s droning answering machine. Therefore, Roy had resorted to playing online games. Moss had a slight head cold and was not feeling much like himself—he hadn’t done anything particularly productive today besides blow his nose and tear up tissues. Jen had no important paperwork that she couldn’t procrastinate, and she had already finished reading  _Love and Rockets_. She was settling into her swivel chair to take a nap. Not to mention that the batteries for  _Guitar Hero_  had died and no one felt like going to the store to buy new ones. It was going to be a long day indeed.

And then Douglas Reynholm had to barge in and ruin everything.

“HELLO, STANDARD NERDS,” he announced.

Roy nearly fell out of his chair in surprise. “Good morning, Mr. Reynholm!”

“If it’s not my favorite man from Ireland! Or, at least, one of the top men from Ireland. In this building.”

Roy winced.

“Are you here to tell us more about Spaceology?” Moss asked, wiping his nose. His voice was much more nasally than usual.

“No, young man,” Douglas sighed. “I left that faith a long time ago. I’ve found a brand new church now, but unfortunately for you, it’s one I’m completely forbidden to talk about or discuss with anyone. Where’s Jen?”

“In here!” Jen called, standing up and pinching her earlobes to wake herself up. “How are you today, Mr. Reynholm?”

“Just fine, Jen. We are all gathered, are we not?”

“Well, there is Richmond,” she pointed out.

“Is he still out with scurvy?” asked Roy.

“No,” said Moss. “He’s on holiday in Vladivostok.”

“Wonderful,” said Douglas. “I wanted to have you all here for this wonderful news. We have recently received a grant from a computer company to boost our IT Department.”

“Oh, really!” Jen exclaimed, suddenly bouncing up and down like Jennifer Beals in  _Flashdance_. “That’s wonderful! How much is it for?”

“I’d say about ten thousand quid.”

Her eyes widened. “What? REALLY? That’s amazing!”

“What computer company was it?” Moss asked excitedly.

“I don’t know,” said Douglas.

“This is great!” said Roy. “But why would they give us a grant?”

“Are we going to get free computers?” Moss asked.

“Who cares?” Jen laughed.

“Actually,” said Douglas. “There  _is_  one condition.”

“Oh, no,” Jen whined. “What is it?”

“The head of this company has a daughter who just graduated from college and is looking for a job. You will receive this grant if you take her under your wing for a little while. Show her the ropes, that sort of thing.”

“Oh,” said Jen. “Well, we’d love to! It’ll be nice to have another lady down here. And we could always use the help, you know, with how busy it is down here. So many calls today we can barely handle ourselves.”

Moss and Roy looked at each other. Roy mouthed “A LADY??!?!” and Moss pointedly looked surprised.

“Yes!” Roy faux laughed. “So many calls.”

Moss scoffed. “Calls?”

“When does she arrive?” Jen asked Douglas.

“Tomorrow. Her name is Angie something. She’s quite a catch. I’d like to shag her someday. No offense, Jen.”

“None taken!” Jen was in a trance of happiness, laughing herself silly. “She’s coming tomorrow you say? And her name is Angie? Oh my God. OH MY GOD.”

“Yes. I believe her flight lands at about eight a.m. tomorrow, so she’ll be here around eleven. I’ve got her CV right here.”

Douglas was carrying a black folder in one arm, which he handed to Jen. She didn’t open it, but took his hand and said, “Thank you  _so much_ , Mr. Reynholm. I can’t even tell you how happy I am to take on such a great honor. We will be so happy to have Angie here with us. Won’t we, guys?”

Roy nodded vigorously, putting on a fake smile, and Moss looked down, wiping his nose again.

“Very happy,” Roy said. “Ecstatic!”

“I’m so glad,” said Douglas, pulling away from Jen’s hand and straightening his jacket. “Make sure everything is ready by ten tomorrow. We’re bringing down another desk from upstairs—we finally got the nerve to fire Judy. Thank God. Let’s just say she definitely didn’t meet our attractiveness standards.”

Roy’s face lit up. “Judy? Oh, good riddance.”

“But anyway, they’ll be down in a minute. Make some space for them. Maybe get rid of that giant metal box.”

“That’s a PlayStation,” Moss mumbled.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Reynholm!” Jen said again, still staring at Douglas in an ebullient trance.

“You’re very welcome. Goodbye, standard nerds.”

Once Douglas was out of earshot, Jen flopped down onto the couch. Roy swiveled over to Moss in his chair as she began flipping through Angie’s curriculum vitae.

“Can you believe it?” Roy whispered gravely. “ _Another_  woman?”

“I hope she doesn’t have an Aunt Irma,” Moss whispered back.

“Oh, they all have an Aunt Irma! Which means double Aunt Irma!”

Moss scrunched up his mouth in painful remembrance. “Nah, no. Nuh-uh. Mm-mm.”

“ _And_  she has a rich dad, which means she’s probably a spoiled rich girl like Betsy from seventh.”

“Aw,” Moss shook his head. “Betsy. Pshaw.”

“I know. I bet she’s just like that. Gorgeous, manipulative. Only out for what  _she_ wants. What about what I want? She never thought about that,  _ever_.”

“Please don’t get into this again, Roy.”

“I can get into it if I want to.”

“You  _wanted_  the two of you to sit around at your place and watch  _28 Days Later_.”

“You like  _28 Days Later_.”

“That’s beside the point. I’m not a flippin’ woman psychiatrist, but I know women, Roy, and from what I gather, most of them don’t enjoy zombie films.”

“Hey, boys,” Jen exclaimed, sitting up on the couch. “Listen to this.”

“What is it?” asked Moss tiredly.

Jen turned around to face them. “Imogene Eklund— _not_  Angie, he got that wrong—is twenty-six years old, single, American, and enjoys kayaking, sketching fashion designs, and traveling. She is fluent in French and Gaelic, and her last job was as a library assistant.”

“She’s American?” Roy pondered. “Oh. Well, that’s interesting.”

“Yeah,” said Jen. “I don’t know a lot of Americans. Luckily she doesn’t sound like a gun-toting redneck.”

“I can’t stand Americans,” said Moss. “They’re so confident and scary. They’re totally impolite and they never shut up about themselves.”

“What Americans do you know?” Roy asked.

“My mother watches a quite a bit of  _Grey’s Anatomy._ ”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Jen. “It’ll be interesting to have a bit of cultural diversity around here. I wonder if she’s ever been to London. We could all show her around!” She paused, eyeing her two colleagues. “Or maybe  _I_ could show her around. If you don’t want to, that is.”

“I’d love to,” said Moss. “I could show her the video store and the playground. And Messy Joe’s!”

“We’re not taking her to Messy Joe’s, Moss,” said Roy.

“Why not?”

“Anyway,” Jen went on. “Her picture is quite nice. Take a good look at her.”

She handed the binder to Roy, who swiveled over to take it and then slid back to Moss, who peeked over his shoulder.

“Interesting haircut,” said Roy. “What is this, the nineteen fifties?”

“At least she’s prettier than Judy,” said Moss.

“Anyone’s prettier than Judy. That’s not exactly an achievement.”

“What does her t-shirt say?”

“Um—” Roy squinted. “ _Trust your_ …I can’t read the rest. It’s probably something really cliché, like ‘trust your instincts’. She’s a very cliché-looking person.”

“I’m looking it up.” Moss went to his computer and typed something into Google. “I’m not getting anything. Just a bunch of rubbish.”

“Try ‘trust your t-shirt’.”

“Why would it say that? ‘Trust your t-shirt’—what does that even mean?”

“Oyez,” said a voice from outside. “We’re here from upstairs with the desk.”

“Oh, wonderful!” said Jen, standing up. “Roy, Moss, help me move some of the furniture.”

Both men shook their heads.

Jen rolled her eyes. “At least help me move the couch.”

They shook their heads again.

“Wow, real chivalrous of you. Come on in, boys.”

Roy and Moss went into the back room—grabbing a few tissues on the way—and closed the door, so as not to feel worse about their lack of masculinity. The movers came in and lifted up the couch with ease, moving it to the opposite side of the room, but then Moss and Roy had to be called back in to move the TV, which couldn’t be moved because of the outlet, so the couch was moved back to its original location, and the new desk to the back wall. Some of the posters and bookshelves were moved to make room for whatever things the new worker would like to put up.

“Doesn’t she need a computer?” Roy asked.

The movers shrugged. “We didn’t hear anything about it. She’s probably getting Judy’s.”

“Thanks, guys,” said Jen, waving them off. “Have a nice day.”

“I have a feeling I’m not going to like this new girl,” said Roy.

“Oh, don’t be such a pessimist,” Jen scoffed. Moss sneezed. “Ugh! Into your elbow, Moss! Would you? Jesus.”


	2. Standard Break-Ups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new employee has arrived in London, and has found that her old friend and new roommate Ginger is in a bit of a crisis.

Imogene’s flight was slightly delayed, so she did not arrive in London until about nine o’clock a.m, and not at her friend Ginger’s apartment until around nine thirty. She was rather excited to see Ginger, her friend from college, who had always been so much fun. Imogene needed a bit of fun. Her life had not been going so well lately.

Her last job as a library assistant was quite possibly the most boring thing ever. She’d been hoping, with all the books and everything around, that she would at least be surrounded by things she was interested in, but NO. She was not allowed to read at all during the day, and she could NOT wear her Stranger Things t-shirt to work, or Doctor Who. Not even Lord of the Rings, which was an actual book. And Rey buns were forbidden, too, if it wasn’t Star Wars day.

That was the reason she’d quit. Or was fired. One of the two. Mrs. Halloway, her hamburger-shaped and overly strict boss, had told her to remove her three hairbuns at once. Imogene had refused, and therefore quit/was fired. That sounded like a new trend of some sort: quit-firing. A millennial fad for sure.

She reached Ginger’s apartment in the and knocked on the door. Shave and a haircut, two bit. The door burst open and Ginger appeared in its frame, her blonde hair all tangled and sticking to her face, and her pink bathrobe covered in splotches of something yellow. This was rather surprising, as she was normally all done-up like a socialite.

“Hi, Ginge…” Imogene said nervously. “What’s…going on?”

Ginger squinted her round blue eyes. “What time is it?”

“Uh…” Imogene lifted her wrist to see her watch. “It’s about nine thirty-two.”

There was a brief pause as Ginger tried to make some sense of where she was and what exactly was going on. “Imogene?”

“My flight was delayed,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s today, isn’t it.” Ginger yawned. “Well, uh, I guess you can come in. Make yourself at home.”

“Thank you,” said Imogene quietly, stepping inside.

The apartment, frankly, was not what she’d expected. Ginger had said that it was a nice place with decent furnishings, and that it was normally very tidy and well-kept. This chaotic mess couldn’t be further from the truth.

The furniture looked decent—or, as though it had at one point. The nice white couch in the center of the place, facing the door and the TV, was splattered with stains, red and green and even chartreuse. The coffee table in front of it was covered in papers and empty bowls of what looked like popcorn and Cheetos. The kitchen area to the left was full of dirty dishes and takeout containers, all over the table and countertops, and the garbage was overflowing. There were blankets and pillows scattered throughout the place, as though the entire apartment was a giant bed. The TV was up practically at full volume, blasting a British game show.

“Where will I be sleeping?” Imogene asked.

Ginger frowned. When she said it, it was almost a question. “In the bedroom?”

“Oh,” said Imogene nervously. “Wonderful. I like bedrooms.”

“Me, too,” laughed Ginger. “But they’re better when someone else is in them.”

Imogene frowned. Ginger must have been in one of her moods. She’d probably just broken up with her boyfriend…

Oh no.

“Hey, um,” Imogene asked as nonchalantly as she could. “How is Xavier?”

Her friend flopped down onto the couch. “Xavier?”

“Well, yeah.” She looked down at her shoes. Converse, with monster faces drawn on the toes in black Sharpie. The doodles were beginning to fade. “You posted to Facebook a little while ago that you two were…engaged?”

“I don’t know!” Ginger threw her face into her pillow. “I’m too hung over. I’m too hung over to CARE.”

Imogene gasped. “You drink?”

She raised a finger into the air. “Past tense. I drunk.”

“Well, Ginger—you didn’t break up with Xavier, by any chance? Did you?”

“Mmm…”

“You didn’t!”

“I did.” Her head snapped back up from the pillow, and her eyes were wide as if she was realizing this for the very first time. “I DID! I broke up with him. I broke up with him because he CHEATED ON ME WITH A MAN.”

Imogene’s eyes widened, too. “Wait, he was gay?”

“Bisexual. Nope, pansexual. I always get those two mixed up.”

“How can you? They’re not the same thing.”

“I always picture a frying pan for pansexual. Like, ya take a frying pan with all the genders and you’re like, ‘I’m making me an omelet. Boing.’”

“That’s a bit offensive.”

“Yeah, well, I’m drunk so it doesn’t matter.”

“I thought you said you were hung over.”

“That too.”

“Aw, Ginge.”

“I know. I’m a mess, aren’t I?” She put a hand to her head. “I’m such a goddamn mess.”

Something about this situation was giving Imogene the heebie-jeebies. Ginger was acting just like the sort of person her Dad had told her NOT TO GET INVOLVED WITH EVER UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. Drunks and junkies, he called them. Bad influences. But if Imogene left now, she’d have nowhere to stay. She supposed she’d have to hang around here, and probably comfort Ginger through this sad time.

“Don’t be a mess,” she said awkwardly. “That’s no fun.”

“Pfft,” Ginger laughed sadly. “Like that’s possible. I really liked him, Genie. I really, really liked him. We were going to get married and have kids together, for Christ’s sake. We were going to go to America on holiday. He’d never seen America before, and now he’s going with bloody Chris.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that.”

“You should be. It’s terrible.” Ginger flopped back down onto the couch again and let out a sob. “I’ll never love another man. Ever.”

“Yes, you will.”

“No, I won’t! There’ll never be anyone like Xavier.”

“Uh…” Imogene thought for a second. “Well, that is true. Xavier is an individual. There’s no one in the world like him, just like there’s no one in the world like you or me. But there’s probably someone else out there who’s a completely different individual and who’s much nicer.”

“I doubt there’s another man in the world, in all of London, who volunteers at soup kitchens every day after work. EVERY DAY.”

“Every goddamn day,” Imogene quoted, before realizing that her reference was overly obscure. “Well, um, Ginger, I would love to help you out with this, but I’ve really got to get settled in so I can get to my new job—”

“FINE, I DON’T CARE. DO WHAT YOU WANT. LEAVE ME.”

“Okay! Where’s the bedroom?”

“In the back.” Ginger pointed arbitrarily. “Behind the blue door.”

“TARDIS-blue?”

“Yeah.”

Imogene smiled wide. “I get to sleep…behind a TARDIS-blue door…in ENGLAND?!”

“Fangirl all you want. I don’t care. Just leave me in peace, please, and don’t make a lot of noise. My head is really killing me.”

Imogene picked up her suitcase and went into the bedroom, which was still messy but much tidier than the outside. Christmas lights were strung up on the ceiling and there was a big window on the left wall, with a pink curtain hanging over it and a shelf beneath it for books. The bed was against the wall facing the door, and was full of crumpled quilts. A bookshelf was along the right wall, as well as a desk covered in papers and files and things.

“Ginger?” she asked. “Where’s my bed?”

“Uh…there should be a box.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. There’s a box.”

Imogene frowned, then looked around and indeed found a box—a box for an inflatable bed, that is. She searched for an outlet and found one along the wall along the bedroom door, then began tearing at the tape surrounding the box with her fingers. She began to zone out a little bit for a while, slowly picking at the tape, but then she snapped out of it and vigorously tore it away. Then she opened it, laid it on the floor, and plugged it in. It began making this horridly loud noise, and Imogene’s hands flew to her ears.

“TURN THAT DOWN, WOULD YOU?” Ginger yelled from the other room.

“I DON’T THINK IT HAS A VOLUME BUTTON,” Imogene yelled back.

“RRGHGHHHHHGHGHGHGH. COULD IT GET ANY WORSE?”

Imogene stood up and ran out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her. It muffled the noise quite nicely. She straightened her Stranger Things t-shirt—the one with Eleven and the Eggos on it—and cleared her throat again.

“I think I should be going,” she announced. “I might go to my interview a bit early.”

“Mm…okay.”

“It’s supposed to be at eleven, but with all the figuring out of the bus system I might get there much later.”

“Okay.”

“Bye…”

“Hrmpf.”


	3. Standard Lying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imogene is on her way to Reynholm Industries, and may be a bit lost.

Imogene didn’t want to take another bus, since the one on the way to Ginger’s house had been full of shady-looking people, so she decided it would be better to just walk to Reynholm Industries and ask Londoners for directions along the way. A few of the people she asked happened to be American tourists, and one couple was kind enough to hand her a map of the city. She had to sit down on a bench and take a good, long look at it for a while, and it took her about ten minutes to find Carendon Road, and then where she was. She had to find a nice vantage point at a street corner, where she unfortunately came to the conclusion that Reynholm Industries was on the COMPLETE OPPOSITE SIDE OF TOWN. It turned out she’d been going in the wrong direction the whole time. Fudge.

She began walking, and eventually thinking to herself. Imogene always enjoyed walking, as it gave her time to be alone with her thoughts. Walking was her favorite type of exercise besides kayaking, but she’d only done that once. She wondered if it was wrong to lie about that on her resume—well, her curriculum vitae. Probably not. She’d only lied about her hobbies, and a bit about her personal appearance.

Filling out her curriculum vitae had been difficult. She’d filled out all the important things, with her education and job experience and the like, and then she’d reached extracurricular activities. Without thinking, she’d listed writing poems, watching films, and reading classic novels. But then she’d taken another look at it and thought to herself, Jesus Christ, I sound like a freaking nerd.

She’d gone onto the Reynholm Industries website and to the “employment opportunities” tab. Sexy workers, it said. Sexy, qualified, attractive workers. Watching films and reading wasn’t attractive, and neither was writing poetry about the Eleventh Doctor. It was honestly all sort of sad.

Quickly, Imogene had thought of the most attractive and sexy-sounding activities she could think of: kayaking, sketching fashion designs, and traveling. Typical rich-girl activities someone like her would normally experience, right? At least, those were the things her older sister did on a regular basis, with her dashing French husband Jean-Luc.

(She hadn’t lied about being fluent in French and Gaelic, neither of which were very convenient. Her Gaelic was a bit rusty since she had no one to speak with, but she could still read and write it.)

And the photo. Oh, God, the photo. She was definitely going to regret that. She already did.

Although, all she’d done was thin out her cheeks a little, bulge out her eyes a bit more, and touch up her acne scars. She’d also made sure to find a picture without her glasses on, and from when she’d had that relatively nice nineteen sixties haircut, with the bangs and the long hair and the layering. Now her hair was slightly messier, with longer bangs that went down to just below her eyes, and the rest of her hair only going down to her shoulders. She had a hard time brushing it, and it was normally very tangled with little wispy hairs sticking out everywhere.

Of course, Imogene wasn’t totally ugly. Her brown eyes could be sort of alluring, and her pudgy nose mildly adorable when it wasn’t covered in dry skin, but otherwise she only looked beautiful from a certain angle, in her opinion, and even then it wasn’t conventionally so.

She really hoped her attractiveness—or lack thereof—wouldn’t result in workplace discrimination at Reynholm Industries. She’d already felt very discriminated against at the library, what with her being a fangirl and all.

What road was this? Was this Carendon? She couldn’t tell. She stopped to ask an old man on the sidewalk, who gave her nothing but a creepy smile. She then used her fake British accent to ask someone else, but that fared even worse. She would have to work on her British accent if she were to truly fit in here. Maybe her new colleagues could help her with that.

Finally, she looked straight ahead of her and saw a street sign a block ahead reading what looked to be CARENDON ROAD. She crossed the street and hurried over to it, checking her watch. It was still only ten-thirty. She would be quite early to her interview. Oh, well. She’d always thought it was better to be early than late.


	4. Standard Job Interviews

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imogene meets Douglas for the first time, but unfortunately he is a bit...er, occupied.

Douglas, as usual, was looking at porn.

Well, not conventional porn. He’d found this strange new website, FanHub.net, where there was a bunch of extremely well-written erotica. Not just the trash he normally went for—this was the real deal. He’d found a really good one about a very sexy man named Han who was introducing his girlfriend Leia to the wonderful world of dominance and subordination. Written in prose that danced like a ballerina, it was quite possibly the sexiest thing Douglas had ever read. He was instantly hooked about three lines in.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Leia whispered.

“Don’t worry, baby,” said Han. “Keep still.”

“Jesus Christ,” Douglas whispered.

The door to his office burst open, and in stepped his secretary. “Our new employee Miss Eklund is here to see you, Mr. Reynholm.”

“Oh, uh…”

Just as he was about to close out of the tab, giant advertisements of scantily clad women exploded all over the screen. They were the kind with those ultra-tiny X’s in the corners, so every time he closed out of one he was directed to these weird websites. He eventually decided to just pick up his entire computer and shove it under the desk.

“Send her in,” he said shakily, still feeling a little turned-on.

“Yes, sir.”

She left, and in stepped a slender girl with a slight tummy and a messy ponytail. She was wearing a weird-looking t-shirt, a navy-blue cardigan, Converse shoes, and skinny jeans. She also had giant black horn-rimmed glasses with little diamonds on the sides, and chubby acne-filled cheeks. Her only other accessories were a yellow backpack and a small map in one hand. She was rather slovenly-looking, as though she’d never worn a scrap of makeup in her life and she’d slept in her clothes the night before…on the street.

“Ah, hello,” said Douglas. “You must be the new toilet cleaner. We’ve been expecting you for quite some time now.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “Uh—”

“You showed up right on time. Now sit down so we can begin our interview.”

There was a beat as the girl took everything in, then she inched forward and said, “Okay.”

“Great.”

She went to the chair in front of Douglas’ desk and sat down without removing the rather large backpack. Douglas took a moment to adjust himself—which he failed to do in a dignified manner, something the new employee couldn’t help but notice. She winced slightly and looked down.

“Alright,” he grunted. “So. Where shall we start?”

“Uh…I don’t know.”

“I suppose I should actually bother to look at this list of standard interview questions I downloaded from the Internet this morning. Perhaps that would help us.”

The girl laughed slightly, and he shot her a confused frown. She looked down and said quietly, “Maybe.”

“Okay, let’s start with this one. Why do you want a job in toilet cleaning?”

The girl stared at him blankly, eyebrows raised.

“Well?”

His voice was so loud it made the room shake. “Uh, I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?”

“Uh, because toilet cleaning is such a tricky field, sir.”

“Oh. Well, I can see why you’d apply here. We have some of the cleanest toilet facilities in the world. We’ve been number one competitively for quite a few years now. Not to mention that they’re all unisex.”

“That’s actually one of the reasons I applied here,” she said shakily, clasping her hands in her lap. “It’s so groundbreaking how you’ve completely obliterated gender-specific bathrooms. A lot of companies are so terrified to embrace the gender spectrum and those who are nonbinary. It takes a lot of courage, and that’s very admirable. You’re a great role model for companies like you.”

Douglas frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Our unisex toilets are specifically designed to orchestrate extramarital affairs. I’ve never even heard of the gender spectrum.”

The girl’s eyes bulged and she looked down. “A story for another time, then.”

“Wonderful. Well, anyway, that seems about good enough. All these other questions sound like typical fare, and you definitely look the part, so I’m just going to hire you right now.”

“Oh.”

“Welcome to the Reynholm Industries toilet cleaning team, Miss…?”

“Actually, Mr. Reynholm,” she quickly butt in, looking down and speaking as quickly as she could without being unintelligible. “But my name is Imogene Anne Eklund and I’ve come to take the job you offered me in Information Technology. I’ve never cleaned a toilet in my life and I don’t intend to, sorry to say. You’ve obviously mistaken me for someone else.”

Imogene’s eyes moved up to Douglas’ again. He looked completely unfazed.

“Sorry,” she said.

“It’s alright,” he assured. “It happens all the time. Although, to be frank, I wouldn’t have made the mistake if you didn’t dress like a toilet cleaner in the first place. I mean, damn. You’re shoddier than a common prostitute, and they’re pretty damn shoddy. Good thing you’re going down to IT.”

Imogene’s face was red, and she could feel her eyes watering. “Mm-hm.”

“Well, I suppose you’d like to see your office now, wouldn’t you?”

“Maybe.”

Douglas stood up, slightly hunched-over, and Imogene sniffled a bit and wiped her eyes. He opened the door and she followed him out, trying to hide her embarrassed face—well, her embarrassing face. She was suddenly extremely self-conscious about her appearance, especially her clothes.

What a terrible place this was. She’d only been there five minutes and she was already having second thoughts.

Douglas led her to a nice-looking elevator and gestured towards it. “There you go. Basement floor. Enjoy your first day.”

“Thank you, Mr. Reynholm,” she whispered, stepping inside.

The basement floor button was full of weird crusty stuff, and blinking like a street lamp in a horror film. When Imogene pressed it, she retained some grease on her finger.

The doors closed, and she resisted the urge to cry.


	5. Standard First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The IT Department finally meets their new employee.

“Oh no! Oh NO! Chicken in a—ROY!!!!”

“I’m almost there!”

“NO! NOT THE DEATH PUNCH! I HATE THE DEATH PUNCH!”

“YOU’RE GOING DOWN, MOSS!”

“I’VE STILL GOT MY POWER-UP! JUST LET ME GET TO THE PLATFORM—”

“PREPARE TO MEET YOUR END!”

“NOT SO FAST, ROY. MUSHROOM TIME!”

“AW, NO! NO NO NO NO NO!!!”

“HAHAHAHAAAAAAAA!” Moss set his controller in his lap and pointed a finger at Roy. “I win! You owe me a large popcorn and a ticket to the next Marvel movie!”

“Can’t we do two out of three?” Roy whined.

“Let me have this, Roy. Let me have this.”

“Boys!” Jen called, coming out of her office. “Could you maybe turn the PlayStation off? She’s going to be down here any minute. We can’t have her think this is all we do around here.”

“Why not?” Roy asked. “If I was showing up for my first day, I would love to think that this is all we do around here.”

“We haven’t had a call since this morning, and it was from Roy’s mum,” Moss interjected.

“That’s not true!” Jen scolded. “We did have that wrong number.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Turn it off now and pretend to be doing something useful.”

“This is useful!” Roy protested.

“Yes it is!” Moss added. “I just got a free ticket to the next Marvel movie AND a large popcorn! Now I finally have something to do this weekend.”

There was suddenly a knock on the door. Jen jolted.

“That’s her! That’s her, everyone! Quick, turn off the PlayStation! Get to your desks!”

Moss and Roy did as they were told. Roy quickly put the phone to his ear and pretended to be talking to someone important, while Moss went to his black computer screen and feigned typing something on his keyboard.

“Alright, everyone!” Jen said nervously. “Now, just…” She was about to say ‘pretend to be normal’ but remembered how that had fared before, and decided against it. “Be nice?”

Roy and Moss glanced at each other, and Roy made a point of rolling his eyes.

The person on the other side knocked again, and Jen cleared her throat before opening the door.

Her face immediately fell.

“Hello,” said the girl on the other side. “I’m Imogene Eklund. Is this IT?”

Jen slammed the door and backed away, her stomach growing queasy. Moss looked up at her curiously.

“Oh my God,” Jen whispered. “Oh my God.”

“What is it?” he asked.

“I knew it! I knew there was going to be a catch! No way would they give me someone completely normal. No way! How could I be so stupid?”

“Oh, no,” said Roy.

“What is it?” Moss asked again.

“She’s a…” Jen could barely get the words out. “She’s a…”

“She’s a what?” Roy asked.

“A murderer!” Moss whispered.

“SHE’S A NERD!” Jen wailed, flopping down on the couch.

Roy widened his eyes, and so did Moss. They looked at each other. They looked at the door.

With a sudden burst of energy, they both shot out of their seats and raced each other there, scrambling for the doorknob and pushing each other around. Roy got there first, which says about as much as you need to know about Moss’s physical activity as his desk is right next to the door.

Roy opened it, and the girl had her hand raised to knock on the door.

“Hello,” he said as sexily as he could. “Are you the new employee?”

Her brown eyes widened, and she straightened her glasses. This was the nicest anyone had been to her so far.

Moss peeked over Roy’s shoulder and waved. “Hi!”

She waved slightly. “Hi.”

“I’m Maurice Moss, or Moss for short.”

Roy pushed him aside. “I’m Roy, or…Roy. And you are?”

“Imogene,” she said.

“Ah, Imogene. We’ve been expecting you. Come in, come in.”

He stepped over to let her in. She was very nervous, and had a timid aura about her as she looked around the messy office. Her lips were pressed together, rolling against each other, and she seemed as though she might cry.

“Nice office,” she said quietly.

“Thank you!” said Moss.

“Uh, your desk is over here,” said Roy, heading over to it and slamming a hand down on the desktop. “It’s all spick and span, ready for you. You can decorate it however you want.”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

Roy pointed to the couch. “That’s Jen, our Relationship Manager.”

Jen shot upwards and held out her hand. Her hair was a bit mussed. “I’m Jen Barber.”

Imogene shook it slowly and carefully. “Imogene Eklund.”

“Very nice to meet you.”

“Sorry we don’t have a computer for you,” Roy said. “I assume they’re bringing you another one from upstairs.”

“That’s okay,” Imogene said quickly. “I’ve brought my own.”

Roy’s eyes widened. “You’ve brought your own?”

“Yeah, it’s uh…I can’t work on any other computer, so I’ve brought my own. It’s a Synapse CB-295Y. I use it for everything.”

Moss gasped. “YOU HAVE A SYNAPSE CB-295Y?!”

She turned to him and blushed. “Yeah, um…My dad owns Prophecy Electronics.”

“Wait, really?” Roy asked. “Your dad is Weston Eklund, then?”

She nodded.

“Chairman Wow!” Moss exclaimed. “That’s the coolest thing I’ve heard all day! I can’t believe I’m in the same room as someone who owns an actual Synapse! That’s one of the best computer monitors there is!”

“You can fool around on it when it comes in,” Imogene laughed slightly. “Just be very careful with it. I’ve had Jaggers for a long time.”

Roy frowned. “Jaggers?”

“Yeah, that’s his name.”

Jen whined. “You named your computer?”

“Yeah. His name is Jaggers like in Great Expectations.”

Jen stood up from the couch. “I’ll be in my office. You three carry on. Make yourself at home, Imogene.”

“Okay,” she said, shifting around uncomfortably. “Thanks, Jen. Bye.”

The door shut behind Jen. Imogene looked around the room a little more, then her eyes caught on something and she gasped.

“WAIT A SECOND!” she cried, jumping up and down suddenly and flapping her arms. “IS THAT AN ENID DOLL?!”

“Uh, yeah!” Roy laughed. “That’s mine. I got it off of EBay a few years ago. You know Ghost World?”

“OF COURSE I KNOW GHOST WORLD! I mean, I haven’t read the Eightball comic, but that’s one of my favorite movies of all time! Can I take a look at it?”

“Yeah!”

Roy followed her to the shelf next to his desk, where she stood on her tiptoes and took the box down. He turned around and pumped his fists in the air at Moss, who was standing with clenched fists at his sides near the couch, awkward as ever.

“Wow!” she exclaimed, reading the box. “I’ve never met someone else who likes Ghost World as much as I do. God, I can’t believe you have this!”

“I can loan you the comic if you want,” Roy suggested.

“That’d be great!” she said happily. “I have the film on Criterion, and there’s a little sample that came with the DVD. I’d love it if you could give me some more! I so want to read the rest of it. What other cool things do you have in here?”

“Well, um—”

“We have an extensive comic collection,” Moss chimed in.

“Oh, really!” Imogene cried. “I’d love to see! Do you have any Marvel? I’ve been meaning to get into Iron Man, since I’m really into the MCU. What ones do you have?”

“Well, we have a lot of Fantastic Four,” Moss explained, coming over to his desk and searching the shelves. “Not a lot of Iron Man, though. Mostly Spider-Man, though we also have some Superman, Judge Dredd, Daredevil, Ant-Man—”

“There’s a lot more where that came from,” Roy added. “I have a much bigger collection at my flat.”

“Ha!” Moss laughed. “Quite the contrary. I think it’s indisputable that I have a much bigger collection, Roy. And I also have more collectible figurines. You just have a bunch of measly little bobble-heads.”

Imogene pointed to a statue on a shelf behind Moss’ desk. “Let me guess. Judge Dredd?”

“Yes!” Moss exclaimed. “Nice catch. That is a very prized possession of mine. I don’t even let anyone else touch it. You’ve at least read those comics; I hope?”

Imogene shook her head. “I’ve only heard of the movie.”

He gasped again. “Are you out of your mother-flippin’ mind?”

“I suppose I am,” she smiled.

“Judge Dredd is only the greatest comic in the history of EVER! I don’t Adam and believe this. Screw the Marvel comics. You need Judge Dredd more than anyone I know. Here.” He opened up a drawer in his desk, which was full of comic books in plastic sheaths. He pulled one out. “This is Judge Dredd: Case Files 01. The perfect place to start.”

“What’s it about?” she asked.

“Don’t let them get into it!” Jen yelled from her office.

“Actually, Jen’s right,” Roy said. “We should help you get settled in.”

“I think I’m already settled,” Imogene said gaily, handing the Enid doll back to Roy. “But I guess it would be good for me to start setting up my desk. I’ve brought a bunch of supplies and stuff.”

“We can carry on this conversation later.” Roy glared at Moss, who scrunched his lips up again and looked down, placing his comic book back on the desk.

“Can I borrow that sometime?” Imogene asked, pointing to the comic.

Moss cocked his head to the side. “Yes, but it is in mint condition, so I have to ask that you do not bring it out of this office. And that you steer clear of food and beverages.”

She shrugged. “Fine with me.”

“Would you like some coffee or tea?” Roy asked her. “I could make you some.”

“I would, thank you,” said Moss.

“Do you have any Darjeeling tea?” Imogene asked.

Roy winced. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, I guess any kind of black will do.”

“Oh. Okay. Moss, could you come back with me, please?”

“Of course, Roy.”

“I guess I’ll just set up my desk, then?” Imogene suggested.

“Yep.”

Roy and Moss went into the back kitchen, and Imogene went to her desk, unzipped her backpack, and began pulling out folders, posters, and other office supplies.

“She’s amazing!” Roy exclaimed, once Imogene was out of earshot. “I’ve never met another girl who likes comics that much.”

“Well, she hasn’t read a lot of comics, Roy,” Moss pointed out. “She just said she wanted to.”

“She had a Stranger Things t-shirt on. And she named her computer Jaggers. She’s quite possibly the nerdiest girl I’ve ever met, Moss. Hell, she even wears horn-rimmed glasses!”

“Hey, guys?” Imogene called.

They shuffled out of the kitchen, and Moss asked, “What is it?”

“Do you have any tape? I want to hang up some of my posters.”

“Oh, yes,” said Roy, grabbing some from his desk and placing it on hers. He stopped abruptly when he saw the posters laid out on the desktop. “Wait, what are these?”

“Oh, you know,” she said, unpeeling some tape and flipping a poster over. “Just some things from movies I like.”

“The 400 Blows?”

“Yeah. That’s a French film, have you heard of it?”

Roy nodded, frowning again. Imogene turned around, looking for a proper spot on the wall, and then hung up the poster in her hand. It was a Star Wars poster with Rey on it. She pulled some more out of her backpack, and each one was more exotic than the last. She had practically every film ever made represented in there, from Hitchcock’s Vertigo to Akira to The Royal Tenenbaums.

“Jesus Christ,” Roy sighed. “That is a lot of films.”

“Yeah,” Imogene said nonchalantly. “I’m a total movie buff. What’s your favorite movie?”

“Uh…” he laughed a little. “I don’t think I have one. What’s yours?”

“Probably Moonrise Kingdom. I’m a huge Wes Anderson fan.”

“Oh.”

“Is my tea done?”

“Uh…no. Moss and I were just finishing that.”

Roy went back into the kitchen, and Moss followed him.

“She’s a keeper,” said Roy. “Definitely a keeper.”

“What about Aunt Irma?” Moss asked.

“Oh, well…” Roy waved the subject off. “It probably won’t be that bad.”

Moss sighed. “Can I have some tea, please? I’m still a bit stuffed up.”

“Oh, be quiet. I’m making you some.”

In the other room, Imogene looked around her new desk. She still had a few posters to put up. Hopefully they would all fit.

She’d been wrong about this place. She had a feeling she was going to like it here.


	6. Standard Introductions

“So…” Roy droned, standing awkwardly over her desk. “Imogene. Tell us about yourself.”

She clutched her tea tightly, attempting to warm her innately cold hands. “What do you want to know?”

“When do we get to see your Synapse CB-295Y?” Moss asked.

She smiled. “Sometime soon, I hope. I miss it so much.”

Jen, who was back from pouting in the office, snorted playfully and stirred her tea with a spoon. “How can you miss a computer?”

“Jaggers and I do everything together!” Imogene explained. “We design software programs, video games, websites. I write all of my fanfiction on him. He’s my best friend in the whole wide world! I don’t know what I’d do without him. I barely know what I’m doing now!”

“Did you say you write fanfiction?” Moss asked.

“Bloody hell,” Jen mumbled.

“Yes!” Imogene cried. “Well, just one right now. I mostly write poetry and short stories; I could never write a novel. Actually, I guess you could say AYDLI is a novel, but I mean fiction novels. I could never get the hand of writing those. They’re so long.”

“Wait one second,” Moss interjected. “Did you just say AYDLI?”

Imogene blushed a little. “Yeah, why?”

Moss gasped, his cheeks puffing out and his eyes moving out all over the place. “WHAT?”

“What’s AY…?” Roy asked.

“Only the greatest Marvel fanfiction on the face of the Earth!” Moss said excitedly. “So that means you’re—”

“Anderstan283!” Imogene started jumping up and down slightly in her seat, and some of her tea sloshed into her lap that she didn’t notice. “I can’t believe you read my fic!”

“I can’t believe I’m meeting a real life celebrity! Can we keep her, Roy? She’s a celebrity!”

“We were going to keep her anyway,” Roy scoffed.

Imogene was still bouncing, and her eyes were wide. “Are you a FanHubber too? What’s your username?”

“StephenKennel81. Chairman Wow, I can’t believe I’m meeting one of my favorite authors!”

“I can’t believe I’m meeting one of my readers! I didn’t think anyone read my fic. And wait—if you’re Stephen Kennel, then you’re the one who’s been leaving me all those nice comments, aren’t you? Oh, I’ve always wanted to meet you. You seem like such a sweetheart!”

“Thank you.”

“Wait a second,” Roy butted in. “What are you two talking about? Did you say you’re a writer on FanHub?”

Jen perked up. “Wait a second…isn’t FanHub the website with all the gay porn on it?”

“All the gay fan porn,” Imogene corrected.

“But also intellectual pieces,” Moss added. “Some introspective, some political, others more poetic. I once found a Fantastic Four fanfiction written entirely in verse.”

“Ooh!” Roy exclaimed. “That sounds good. Would you send it to me?”

“Of course. Now, just so you are aware, the spelling and grammar isn’t that great, which really threw me off at first, although as I read I began to see how it adds a sort of visual element to the page. The out-of-place periods are almost a metaphor for the complex and spontaneous life of a mutant superhero.”

“Kind of like E.E. Cummings?” Imogene suggested.

“Nope. Don’t know who that is.”

“But what’s your fanfiction about?” Jen asked Imogene. “It isn’t gay, is it?”

“Only a little,” Imogene elaborated. “I tried to mix in an even number of straight and gay ships. But the highlight is the fact that it’s a crossover between the X-Men and Avengers universes, so most of the relationships involve those characters interacting and having dialogue thrown back and forth at each other and things. I did add in a bit of a love story between Peter Parker and Kitty Pryde, and there is a lot of food for Brony fans, but they’re not the main focus. Most of the important relationships are platonic ones.”

“Oh my God,” Jen mumbled to herself. “She really is a nerd.”

“Kitty Pryde and Peter Parker?” Roy pondered. “You know, I never would have expected that, but now that you suggest it—”

“It totally works, right?!”

“It does work,” Moss agreed. “Their dialogue is written so beautifully. That scene where Kitty accidentally walked in on Peter while he was taking a wee—magic.”

“Alright, now I have to read this,” Roy exclaimed, sliding into his desk. “What is your username? Anderstan…?”

“Anderstan283, because I’m a Wes Anderson stan.”

“What sort of other fan circles are you involved in, Imogene?” Moss asked.

“Well…” she sighed, finally noticing the warm tea in her lap and wiping at it with the bottom of her sweater. “The most unconventional things, I suppose. Doctor Who. Stranger Things. Star Wars. Marvel, not so much DC. Studio Ghibli. Most British television. Films in general. Animated films are especially good—have either of you seen Akira?”

“I love Akira,” Roy sighed. “Let’s see, Anderstan283. What are all of these? As You Don’t Like It, The Taming of the Tony—Love and Gaelic Lessons?”

“Don’t you dare click on the latter two!” Imogene almost yelled. “They’re old and cringey!”

“I read part of Love and Gaelic Lessons,” Moss chimed in. “I enjoyed how it explored the more complex aspects of the X-Men universe.”

“This As You Don’t Like It one has two hundred reads,” Roy said. “Is that good?”

“No,” said Jen. “One K is good. Two hundred is sad.”

“Most of them are mine!” Moss laughed. “Guilty! I keep going back and reading it all over again. I want to have all the details fresh for when I read the next chapters. I can’t wait for the next update!”

“Just don’t hound me,” Imogene smiled. “You don’t want it to be rushed and muddled, now, do you?”

“I’m reading the first chapter,” Roy announced.

“Really!” she cried. “Do you like it?”

“I’m only on the first sentence.”

“Well, is the first sentence good?”

Roy nodded. “Yes. Very well-written sentence.”

Imogene grinned. “I can’t believe you guys are so nice. This is all so unfamiliar to me—a totally new country, a new job, a new apartment—but you’re all making it so easy. I’m really glad to start working here. I hope I stay a long time.”

“Me, too,” said Moss. “It’s nice to have someone around who understands our references, and who is also a woman.”

“Hey!” Jen whined. “I understand your references and I’m a woman!”

“No, you don’t,” Roy almost yelled.

“It’s not the same, Jen,” Moss said solemnly. “It’s not the same.”

“You haven’t said much, Jen,” Imogene piped up. “You just hanging out in your little corner over there?”

“I am, aren’t I?” she sighed. “I suppose that is strange, considering I am a people person, but I guess I just have nothing to say.”

“What’s your favorite movie?” Imogene asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. Steel Magnolias?”

“STEEL MAGNOLIAS?!?!” Imogene began bouncing up and down again like a basketball. “I LOVE STEEL MAGNOLIAS OLYMPIA DUKAKIS IS THE BEST!”

“Steel Magnolias is the best!” Moss agreed.

“Do you like all eighties movies?” Imogene cried to Jen. “I love Dirty Dancing. And Moonstruck, right? Oh, eighties movies are just the best! We should have a marathon sometime! I’ve still never seen Sixteen Candles!”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jen said happily, standing up. “Don’t tell me you like chick flicks.”

“I love chick flicks!”

“Oh my God! What have you seen?”

Imogene looked up at the ceiling and started counting some off on her fingers. “Beaches, The Breakfast Club, (500) Days of Summer, Pride and Prejudice 2005—just about everything, I guess, although I am missing a few of the essentials. OH! BRIDGET JONES IS MY FAVORITE!”

Jen gasped and her voice deepened to a rasp. “I LOVE BRIDGET JONES.”

“I haven’t seen the second or third one yet! I heard they’re bad.”

“Oh, they’re bad.”

“Yes,” said Moss. “Neither was able to harness the charisma of the original, though they are still rather entertaining.”

“Movie marathon!” Jen said excitedly, and she and Imogene began bouncing up and down in unison.

“Count me in!” Moss exclaimed.

“No, Moss, this is a girl’s thing,” Jen said. “Just girls. Me and my girl, Imogene. Can I call you Im?”

“Im delighted you asked!” Imogene joked, pointing a finger at Jen, who cackled.

Suddenly, the phone rang at Roy’s desk. He tiredly picked up the receiver and said, “Hello, this is IT. Have you tried turning it off and on again?” A woman said something on the other line, and Roy’s expression went pale. “Oh, Kimberly. Yes, yes, this is Roy. Long time no see.”

“Who’s Kimberly?” Imogene asked.

“Ugh,” Jen winced. “Kimberly.”

“An ex-girlfriend of Roy’s,” Moss explained.

“It’s a pretty funny story actually—” Jen began.

“NO!” Roy said quickly, pressing the receiver to his shirt. “No. Please don’t tell her. I’m begging you.”

“Oh, come on, Roy. Have a laugh! It was funny.”

“It was NOT! I still have nightmares about that calendar.” He put the phone to his ear again, and his voice was high-pitched and trembling. “Oh, no. It’s not you, Kimberly. Just, uh—the television. Moss is playing Guitar Hero again.”

“I guess I’ll have to tell you later, Imogene,” said Jen. “Perhaps on our girl’s night, eh? Eh?”

Roy hung up the phone, looking a bit shaken up. “Her computer’s having problems.”

“Is it plugged in?” Moss asked.

“Oh, it’s plugged in.”

“Did she try forcing an unexpected reboot?”

“OF COURSE! She’s tried everything and apparently it just won’t work.”

“Well, why don’t you go up there and fix it?” Imogene asked.

Roy shook his head and circled around his desk. “I can’t go back there. I can’t. I can’t see her face again. All the horrible memories will just come flooding back—”

“I suppose I’ll have to fix it then,” Moss suggested.

“Can I join you?” Imogene asked nervously. “I’d like to see how you guys go about things.”

“Or you could stay down here,” Roy said. “Moss doesn’t like the company.”

“You’re wrong,” Moss scolded. “I’d be honored to have company. Besides, I hate conquering seventh alone. They treat us like garbage. This is one of the few shirts I own that isn’t covered in coffee-cup rings.”

“Well,” said Imogene, standing. “Fear not, dear Moss. I’ll make sure this shirt ends the day squeaky clean. TO SEVENTH!”

Moss straightened his tie. “I go to seek a great unknown.”

“It’s not unknown,” Roy scoffed. “You’ve been up there twenty times.”

“Let me have this, Roy,” he said quietly, following Imogene out the door.


	7. Standard Conversation

Once she and Moss were alone in the elevator together, Imogene had no idea what to say.

Even though her conversation with him and Roy had been somewhat satisfactory back in the office, it was these one-on-one interactions between members of the opposite sex that really made Imogene nervous. She was terrible at talking to guys—well, talking to anyone really, but guys especially. Cute guys especially. And though Maurice Moss didn’t exactly fit society’s conventional standards of attractiveness, in Imogene’s world, he was a gold mine.

I mean, he’d read her fanfiction and left a bunch of nice comments. Maybe there was a chance! They could be like Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks in You’ve Got Mail, which was a terrible movie but still. She had to admit the premise was romantic.

She glanced over at him. He was a very regal man, Maurice Moss. He stood with poise—well, slightly awkward poise—and he had impeccable dress sense. She was especially fond of his brown necktie, which was patterned like the curtains in her parents’ house. Moss was also quite skinny, with noodle-sized arms, and Imogene liked that in a man. She liked lankiness. It was sexy.

Oh, stop it, she thought to herself. Fifteen minutes in and you’re already head-over-heels for one of your colleagues? SNAP OUT OF IT!

“So,” she said, interrupting her internal monologue. “The seventh floor.”

“The seventh floor,” Moss repeated. “AKA ‘the floor where all the hot girls are’.”

Imogene was instantly dispirited. “Oh.”

“Yes. Roy and I are trying to get up there all the time. Well, Roy more so than myself. I prefer intelligent women.”

Huzzah! “Oh, really? What kind of women are you into?” Fudge fudge FUDGE. Don’t say that. What are you thinking? JESUS. She felt her face go hot. “Sorry. That’s a weird question. I mean—”

“It’s not a weird question,” Maurice chuckled. He shook his head a bit and smiled, revealing a space between his two front teeth that Imogene found sort of endearing.

“It kind of is,” she said quietly.

He glanced to the side. “Not really.”

“Yes really.”

“No.”

She looked down. She must have looked like a cherry. Her face was on fire. “So, um…do you really like my fanfiction that much?”

“Of course I do. When are you updating it next?”

“Uh…I don’t know.”

“You left off at such a cliffhanger! What with the new discovery that Vulture is ripping the Avengers apart at the seams through a mole? And all the foreshadowing that Professor X knows what’s really going on? And the steaming sexual tension between Kitty Pryde and Peter Parker, not to mention Jean Grey and Logan?”

“The truth is, well…” Imogene inhaled slightly. “I’m a bit…uh…stuck.”

Moss frowned. “Stuck? But It’s obvious what happens next. They have to find the mole, defeat Vulture once and for all, and figure out how to get the X-Men back to Earth-10005! And they have to figure out how Kitty and Peter can continue their budding romance across the dimensions of space and time.”

“Well,” Imogene sighed. “If you know what’s going to happen, maybe you should write it, then. I have absolutely no idea where to take the story from here.”

“But everything is all wrong! The Earth is doomed! Our favorite couples are in romantic tatters! The scene is perfectly set for the heroes to bounce back and save the day again! It would be dreadful if you just–ended it there!”

“Eh…” She trailed off. “I don’t know.”

“What’s the problem?” Moss asked.

“I don’t know! I can’t figure out what to do next.”

“What, is everything so perfect that you’re afraid you’ll screw it up?”

“Yes! Yes, that’s it exactly!”

“But you wrote it.”

“Exactly. And I have no idea what to do with it. I’m too scared to move on. It’s like I’ve found the fountain of youth and I’m afraid to drink.”

“Well, that’s different. Deciding whether or not to drink from the fountain of youth is a serious moral dilemma. On the one hand, eternal life free from ever having to fear death again, and on the other, having to witness countless other deaths, including the apocalypse. Not to mention no one to share eternal youth with, if your best friends aren’t by your side. One could hardly compare writing the next chapter of a fanfiction to such an ethical problem.”

Imogene sighed again. “I suppose.”

The elevator dinged and opened up into a very modern-looking hallway. Moss and Imogene stepped out.

“This way,” Moss said gravely. “To Reynholm Industries’ fountain of youth.”

“More like ‘fountain of beautiful women’, from what you said earlier.”

Moss thought for a second. “Fountain of youthful AND beautiful women.”

“Perfect. Now, which way to Kimberly’s desk?”

Moss jerked his head to the side, and Imogene followed him to a large office, very modern-looking and pink. Most of the decorations were the type only a ridiculously beautiful ‘girly-girl’ woman would buy, such as a pink swivel chair at one desk reading Princess!!! Imogene wondered if the girls knew that if the chair was an anime, it would be considered extremely gay. Yuri on Ice!!!-level gay, to be precise.

Also, all of the women were beautiful. EXTREMELY beautiful. Well, conventionally so. Most of them looked like your average supermodel—and most of them were difficult to tell apart. There’s only so many variations you can get on the conventionally attractive female, especially the blonde-haired and blue-eyed white girl.

“Which one is Kimberly?” Imogene asked nervously.

“That one.” Moss pointed to a sweet-looking blonde who was sitting at a desk, slapping her computer around. “The girl abusing that poor monitor.”

“Yikes. She looks frightening.”

Moss laughed a bit. “You can put that on my sandwich. Although from what I remember, she’s a fairly benevolent woman.”

“Let’s go see what the matter is.”

“Right.”

They walked through the hordes of beautiful women, dodging them and inching behind them and squirming through their legs, until they finally reached Kimberly.

“WORK WORK WORK YOU STUPID THING!!!” she was almost yelling. Suddenly she looked up at Moss, and her eyes faded from interest to disgust. “Oh, hello. It’s Morris, right?”

“Maurice Moss, yes,” he said quietly.

“And I’m Imogene. We’re from IT.”

“I can see ‘Roy’ was much too chicken to come up here and speak to me himself,” Kimberly said almost sadly.

“Yep,” said Moss. “That’s it.”

“Lovely. Well, I hope he’s doing well.”

“He’s just fine, thanks.”

“Good to know. Well, I’ll leave you to it. Just going to go…print some things.”

She stood up and walked away. Imogene rolled her eyes.

“Wow, I sure didn’t expect her to be so ‘benevolent’,” she scoffed. “What’s the bad blood between her and Roy, anyway?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Moss said, sitting down in Kimberly’s swivel chair. “Roy hasn’t told me, and he tells me everything. Although I’m pretty sure it has something to do with the calendar we made celebrating scientific achievement.”

“Oh, that sounds cool!”

“It was. Roy took all the photos. And I daresay the one he got of me was particularly dashing. Alright, so I tried turning it off and on again, but nothing happened.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we unplug the power cord and check for damage.”

“I’ll do it!” Imogene crouched beneath the desk, crawling over the mess of cords to the outlet in the wall. “Which one is it?”

“This one.” Moss reached behind the monitor and wiggled the cord that it was attached to.

Imogene followed the tremor and unplugged the correct cord, examining the metal prongs. “It looks fine.”

“Alright, now plug it back in and make sure it’s firmly in the socket.”

Imogene did as she was told. “It’s as tight as can be.”

“Still not turning on. Flip.”

Imogene peeked out from under the desk to look up at him. “Did you just say ‘flip’?”

“Yes,” he said gravely. “It is the most vulgar curse word I allow myself to employ.”

She shook her head and scuttled back under the table. “You’re me.”

“Nope, I’m Moss.”

“Hey! I think I figured out what’s wrong.”

“What is it?”

“The power strip’s not on.”

“Oh! I figured that might be it.”

“Yep, just gotta flick the little switch and we’re good. Huzzah!”

“Huzzah.”

Imogene crawled back out from under the table and put up a fist. “Teamwork! Yay!”

He bumped his knuckles against hers. “Yay!”

“Now we just need to find Kimberly and tell her what happened.”

Moss shook his head. “Nope.”

“Nope?”

“Nope. Now we leave.”

“We leave? But then she won’t know to check the power strip next time.”

“It’s really no use. They never learn.”

“Oh. Well, I guess we’d better go then.”

Moss stood up from the swivel chair, pushing it back under the desk, then pulling it out a bit and giving it a slight angle. It looked just like it had been before he’d sat in it. “There. We part without a trace. Were we here, or weren’t we? They will never know.”

“Yeah! IT ninja force!”

Moss pressed his palms together and bowed his head slightly. Imogene did the same.

“Your teachings are wise, sensei,” she said.

“You are a quick learner, my pupil,” he replied.

Kimberly yelled at them from across the room. “Are you guys finished?”

“Quick, run!” Moss exclaimed, and they fled back to the elevator.


	8. Standard Arguments

It had been a great first day at Reynholm Industries. Imogene and her new colleagues got along splendidly. Roy liked all her favorite movies, Moss knew just as much about her favorite superheroes as she did, and Jen was—well, she and Jen liked most of the same romantic comedies, although Imogene’s tastes were much pickier and more opinionated. Imogene fit into their group like a glove.

She also wasn’t all that bad at Guitar Hero, once she figured out which side of the screen she was on.

All in all, it had been a wonderful day. She couldn’t wait for tomorrow. Her entire body tingled with nervous, excited anticipation. She was so anxious, in fact, that she’d almost completely forgotten about Ginger and her midlife crisis—or whatever crisis she was going through. Imogene still wasn’t  _quite_  sure what it was all about.

When she opened the door to the apartment, all the furniture in the living room had been pushed to the walls and Ginger was sprawled out on the floor in a giant X-shape, surrounded by a ring of scented candles.

“ALL BY MYSE-E-ELF, DON’T WANNA BE—”

“Ginger, what the hell is going on?” Imogene scolded.

“ALL BY MYSELF, ANYMOOOOORRREEE!”

“Stop singing that. Are you crying? What is this, a séance?”

Ginger burst into tears, and her belly began to bounce up and down as she sobbed. “He left me for a man.”

“Ginge—”

“He left me,” she repeated. “For a MAN. And we were so in love, you know? We were gonna get married and have kids and have a house with a white picket fence and everything. He was gonna move in here with me for a while because my apartment was nicer. Did you know he was in a band? They got signed to a record label. An ACTUAL RECORD LABEL. As in they’ll be getting RECORDS AND TOURS AND STUFF. I could have been famous. There could have been pictures of me all over Google images. I could have been in his ‘personal life’ section on Wikipedia. ‘Xavier Cameron married Ginger Bailey in 2018 and together they have six children’. Did you know we were going to name all of our kids after X-Men? There was gonna be Raven, James, Jean, Scott, Kitty—”

Imogene grabbed her hand, trying not to knock over any candles. “Ginger, get up.”

She moaned. “I’m not over him yet. Please just let me mourn.”

“Oh, come on! He’s not dead. He cheated on you. He’s a…well, he’s…he’s a bad person. He sure as hell doesn’t deserve all this attention you’re giving him.”

“He kinda does.”

“He does not. Now get out of that bathrobe and go take a shower. You’ve got—is that corn starch?”

Ginger sat up and sniffed a piece of white gunk in her hair. “Candle wax.”

Imogene winced. “Ew.”

“I made all of these candles today.”

“Double ew. What about your job?”

Ginger’s eyes scrunched up into sobbing position again. “I WAS GONNA BE A HOMEMAKER!”

“Wait, are you telling me you  _quit_  your job?!”

She nodded gravely, and her shoulders shook.

“So you don’t have a job, I’m our ONE source of income, and I just got here! Wonderful. Just  _wonderful_.”

“I want to die.”

“Oh, shut up! Go get in the shower and take care of yourself.”

“When did you get so mean?” Ginger’s eyes widened. “Wait, you’re acting more confident than usual. What happened? Are you on drugs? Are you even Imogene?”

“Ask me why.”

“Why?”

“Well, since you asked, if you must know I had the most AMAZING first day at work ever recorded in human history.”

“Oh.”

“Well, maybe not the best. At first it was sort of terrifying. Mr. Reynholm is a bit crazy and I think I saw him get a boner, and I almost got lost on my way there in the first place, and it turns out that I work in this really dirty basement for people who treat me like garbage—but Roy and Moss and Jen are all so nice and I think I found my new best friends! No offense. But Moss and Roy walked me home and they were just the  _sweetest._  And I think Jen likes me, too, though she’s a bit more standoffish. She wants to have a girl’s night to watch romantic comedies. Can you believe it?”

“Well, I’m glad YOU’RE having fun.”

“Oh, phooey.”

“By the way, your dad called.”

Suddenly, Imogene’s confident disposition faded, and she shrunk down to her nervous self again. “He did? Wha-what did he say?”

“I don’t know. He wants to talk to you, I guess.”

“Where’s your phone?” Imogene asked quickly.

“Uh…”

Ginger pulled it out of her pocket, and Imogene snatched it out of her hand with a fiery intensity, racing into the bedroom and slamming the TARDIS-blue door shut. She flopped down on the air mattress and dialed her father’s number with shaking fingers. The tones rang for less than a second before Weston Eklund, CEO of Prophecy Electronics, picked up.

“Hey, snootykins,” he said in his deep, gravelly, familiar voice. “What can I do you for?”

“Dad,” she whined. “Don’t call me that. I’m not eight years old anymore.”

“Wait, really?” he joked.

“I heard you called.”

“Yeah, I did. Just wanted to make sure you weren’t hanging out with any drunks and junkies.”

In the other room, there was the clinking of some glass bottles and Ginger yelled, “WHERE IS ALL THE VODKA?!”

“Oh, no,” Imogene said, clearing her throat. “Never drunks and junkies, dad. Nuh-uh.”

“How is Reynholm Industries, then? Is it treating you well?”

“Oh, yeah. Everyone there is really nice.”

“You know,” said Weston. “They were desperate to have you. Douglas was literally begging at my knees, telling me, ‘Please, please PLEASE let us hire Imogene!’”

“That’s not true.”

“It  _is_  true.”

“Douglas Reynholm barely remembered my name.”

“Was it Douglas? Maybe it wasn’t. Must have been someone else. But they were begging to let me hand you over. You know I didn’t want to, of course. But they gave me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

“Dad, you’re not the Godfather.”

“I kind of am.”

Imogene sighed. “I still can’t believe all this happened.”

“I know. It’s too good to be true, isn’t it?”

“Well…yeah. But I don’t know. I still don’t get why they hired someone from all the way overseas to work in the basement and treat like an inferior. It just doesn’t make any sense.”

“It makes perfect sense,” Weston said almost insistently. “They wanted someone qualified, and who’s more qualified than the daughter of the CEO of Prophecy Electronics? They’re just, you know–being a little hard on you since it’s your first  _real_  job.”

“Well…” She paused for a beat. “What’s going on back at the company?”

“Oh, the usual.”

“What about that place that wants to buy us out? You’ve still got them under your thumb, right?”

“Yes, yes, of course I do.”

“Dad…”

“I do!”

“You know how important it is that you don’t go through with it. You sell us out and we lose everything we’ve ever worked for: our reputation, our right to the Synapse, the enterprise you built with your own two hands. You can’t let this rival company get anywhere near Prophecy Electronics. It’s  _imperative_. I don’t care what ‘the deal’ is or how  _much_  money he offers you. It can’t be done.”

“Yes, yes, snootykins, you’ve told me a thousand times. Nothing’s happening, I swear.” He paused briefly. “Look, I know how much you want to become CEO when I’m gone. You’ve been talking about it ever since you could get words out of your mouth. But  _I’m_ CEO now. Let  _me_  handle things. And meanwhile, you go get your hands dirty in that little basement and learn about the business from the inside out for a change.”

“But…”

She hesitated. She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t say what she’d been thinking ever since she’d been offered the job at Reynholm Industries. She couldn’t tell her own father about that nagging feeling inside her that there was something up, that she felt like this whole deal with the new job and the move to London was just to get her out of the way.

Was she being too anxious? Too distrusting? Probably. It was her greatest flaw, her lack of trust in others. She’d been raised that way—everyone’s a drunk or junkie, every man on the street wants to rip your clothes off, everyone at the grocery store is going to steal your shopping cart. Did she really think that way about her own father? Could she really put him in the same category as all the drunks and junkies and thieves?

The answer, she decided, was no.

“Never mind,” she said finally. “I’m being too paranoid. I trust you. I know you won’t go through with the sellout.”

“Good. Now, go have a fun night with Ginger. A fun, drink-free—”

“Drug-free, sex-free night,” she finished. “And don’t worry, I’ll call 9-1-1 if anything happens to me.”

“That’s 9-9-9 where you are, snootykins.”

“Right. Bye, Dad. Love you.”

“Yep. Goodnight.”

There was a click as he hung up the phone, and Imogene sighed and flopped down on the air mattress. Ginger opened the door and toppled into the room, carrying a bottle of red wine, and Imogene sat up sharply.

“Not on the bed!” she cried. “Your sheets are white! It’ll stain!”

Ginger stared at her and pointedly tipped the nozzle of the bottle onto the white bedsheets, letting some crimson liquid splatter onto them before taking a swig herself. “Tonight I sleep in the blood of my enemies.”

Her friend shrieked and went to snatch up the blankets, but Ginger grabbed them and the two commenced a game of tug-of-war.

“Ginger, you’re drunk! Give them to me!”

“Don’t tell me what to do! I’m in crisis!”

“That’s no excuse!”

Suddenly Imogene pulled just a bit too hard and the sheets slipped out of Ginger’s fingers, along with the bottle of wine she’d been holding. It fell to the floor, breaking on the hardwood and speckling Imogene’s shoes and Ginger’s white socks in a wave of red.

“My shoes!” Imogene yelled.

“My wine!” Ginger shrieked. “I’m going to kill you, you fricking slut!”

“Not if I kill you first! I’ve had these a month, man! Come on!”

“I WAS LEFT FOR A MAN.”

“That’s not a valid argument in this situation! These are the only shoes I brought with me!”

“Oh, that’s just great. The only pair of shoes you own has a bunch of little monster faces drawn on them? Cause that’s just SO MATURE.”

“ _You’re_  the one being immature! When did he leave you, anyway? I bet you’ve been like this for a year at least. You smell like it, anyway.”

“For your INFORMATION, it’s been TWO WEEKS. And I think I’m allowed to have at least a little time to grieve over this, don’t you think? You could be a little more sympathetic.”

Imogene growled. “I can’t believe I agreed to stay with you! You’re by far the worst person I’ve run into all day. You’re drunk when I arrive, you’re drunk when I get home from my FIRST DAY AT WORK IN A NEW COUNTRY, and now you’ve spilled wine all over my ONLY PAIR OF SHOES. I think it’s safe to say that you’re the worst roommate in the world even though it’s only been ONE DAY.”

Ginger opened her mouth to say something, but Imogene interrupted her again.

“You’re being a pain, Ginger. A real pain. We used to be best friends. In college we leaned on each other all the time. I would love to help you get through this. But it’s just—ugh! You’re the only person in London that I  _really_  know! I could use a little effort on your part to help me get situated. You’ve been nothing but mean and selfish and indifferent towards me and it’s really not fair considering I’m scared and terrified and my family is all the way across the ocean! You need to get it together!”

Ginger’s eyes scrunched up again. “Why are you so goddamn assertive?”

“I’m not…” Imogene was taken aback. “I’m not assertive.”

“You kind of are.”

“Aw, Ginge. Don’t do this again.”

“HE LEFT ME FOR A MAN.”

“Yes, yes, I  _know_. You don’t have to keep telling me. Let’s just get you a bath, okay? You literally smell like a trash can—behind a bar. In an alleyway. Where people throw their cigarettes—are you a smoker? Please tell me you’re not a smoker OH GOD YOU’RE A SMOKER.”

“I hate you.”

“Too bad. I’m staying.”


	9. Standard Office Mistrust

The next few days included some of the best work experiences of Imogene’s life. On Wednesday, she ventured to fix a network disconnection problem on sixth, which turned into a lively conversation with an employee about his experiences as a fighter pilot in World War II. On Thursday, she and Moss wiped out a virus that had taken second floor by storm. And on Friday, she managed to beat Jen at Guitar Hero—although Roy and Moss both stressed that this wasn’t exactly an accomplishment.

However, even though things were going extremely well in Imogene’s mind, Roy’s skepticism from earlier soon returned. As he got to know Imogene more and more over the next two weeks, he began to notice a few holes in her story. On her second Friday at the office, he decided to slyly alert Moss of these when Imogene departed to use the restroom.

“Hey, Moss,” he said.

“Quiet, Roy,” his friend responded without looking away from his computer. “I’m busy.”

“Oh, come on! I know you’re just playing online Space Invaders.”

Moss narrowed his eyes at him. “What is it?”

“I think I might have been right about Imogene.”

“What about her?”

“Well—” Roy shifted his position in his seat. “She’s supposedly the daughter of Weston Eklund, right? The CEO of Prophecy Electronics?”

“Yes.”

“So, why isn’t her first IT job  _at Prophecy Electronics_?”

“Hold on. Let me put on my  _slightly larger_  glasses.” Moss pulled a pair out of his desk drawer and put them on. “Alright, now hit me up.”

Roy leaned forward over his desk, almost whispering. “Well, it’s good that we’re getting all this increased funding. But why exactly are we  _receiving_  this increased funding? I mean, don’t you think it’s a bit peculiar that the CEO of a  _major electronics company_  sends his daughter—who is quite accomplished with computers, I might add, though she still has a lot to learn— _all the way overseas_ for her first job, and  _pays_  our company to take her on? You’d think that it would be much wiser to keep her  _at_  Prophecy Electronics so that her father might teach her everything he knows. You really don’t need to be shipped all the way to England to get a proper job in IT. I mean, we work in a basement. It’s not exactly the opportunity of a lifetime.”

Moss looked up at the ceiling to ponder this for a minute. “So you think that Imogene being here at all is a bit fishy?”

“Yes! That’s what I’m getting at. I think there’s some sort of scheme going on here. It’s the only explanation for all these strange goings-on. I mean, she’s fine with computers. She learns fast. If I were her father, and I ran that company, I’d sure think of her as a worthy successor. I definitely wouldn’t send her to a foreign country to work in a dingy basement with guys like us. I’m starting to think that Imogene’s father paid us to get her out of his way.”

“Why would he want to do that?”

“I don’t know, but I’m  _very_  willing to find out.”

“What are you two talking about?” Jen asked suddenly.

Moss and Roy both jumped.

“Nothing!” Roy said quickly. “Nothing at all! Just chatting.”

“Roy thinks Imogene’s father made us hire her because he’s up to something,” Moss blurted out.

Jen gasped. “What? Are you serious?”

Roy rolled his eyes. “Great, Moss. Real nice. Now we have Jen involved.”

“Oh, so you two don’t want me involved? Is this a little  _secret_  between the two of you, hm? Because as Head of IT, I think I deserve to know about it.”

“I  _had_  to get it out, Roy,” Moss stressed. “The way you were talking made it sound pretty illegal. You know I can’t go to prison. They’ll—”

“No one is sending you to prison! And take off those glasses. There’s no need to get excited.”

“Wait, what do you mean, ‘it sounds illegal’?” Jen asked. “Is this another one of your conspiracy theories? It better not be another conspiracy theory. Imogene is a very nice girl. She doesn’t need to be all wrapped up in your shenanigans.”

“Well, Jen, don’t you think it’s all a bit weird? Don’t you think this entire  _situation_  is a bit weird?”

Moss and Roy both watched as she opened her mouth and closed it again. “No, I don’t think there’s anything weird about it at all.”

“Oh, there isn’t?” Roy scoffed. “Nothing about the grant or Imogene being appointed here reeks of any kind of scandal?”

Jen shook her head. “No, nuh-uh. I think it’s quite normal, really. I mean, we are one of the best companies in the world for producing…things. It makes perfect sense Mr. what’s-his-name would send his daughter here.”

“Weston Eklund,” Moss corrected. Jen glared at him and he whispered, “Just stating the facts.”

“Not when he owns the best company in the world for producing COMPUTERS, which is what his daughter just HAPPENS to be passionate about,” Roy elaborated.

“Computers and  _fanfiction_ ,” Moss added. “And superheroes. And foreign films. And physics and maths. She’s quite worldly, really.”

“How do  _you_  know so much about her?” Jen asked.

“Who cares?” Roy almost yelled. “It doesn’t matter whether or not she likes fanfiction. You know what? I bet she’s some sort of hacker, or some sort of computer company spy. I bet she’s trying to tear her father’s company apart at the seams and this is all they could do to get rid of her!”

“Phew!”

Everyone looked up to see that Imogene had returned from the bathroom and was making her way to her desk.

“I don’t know about you,” she continued. “But I just had the time of my life in those toilets there. Usually office bathrooms are dirtier than a back alleyway, but MAN, the ones here are nice. Didn’t you guys say that the cleaners won some award? Definitely well-deserved. I wish I could hug and kiss those guys. What saints they are!”

Her gaze settled on Moss and she laughed. “Why are you wearing those big glasses?”

“No reason,” he said quietly, quickly removing them. “I just…got a little excited.”

“You all look pretty shaken up. You gossiping about me or something?”

“Oh, no,” said Jen. “Not at all. Roy was just getting into a very animated discussion about, um…”

“Death!” Moss cried.

Imogene frowned. “Oh. That’s a bit, uh…dark.”

“He’s been having dark thoughts.”

“Shut up, Moss!” Roy hissed.

“Hey, Im, how is that temporary computer of yours coming along?” Jen asked pointedly. “It’s working well and everything, right? No, uh, connection difficulties or keyboard…?”

“Oh, no!” Imogene said, adjusting her position in her chair happily. “I like it just fine. I’ve already named it Gregory. I mean, he’s no Jaggers, but we’ve grown very close these past few days. Hey, do any of you guys own a portable DVD player? I rented  _Two English Girls_  from the library yesterday, but my roommate is always hogging the TV. She likes to watch those game shows, you know? Like  _Who Wants to Be a Millionaire_ , stuff like that. What’s the one where they have to do the word unscramble?”

Moss perked up. “Countdown?”

“Countdown! I love that one!”

“I was on Countdown!”

Her eyes widened. “You were? That’s AMAZING! Did you get far?”

“I did. But I got lucky. They gave me an unscramble that was  _already_ unscrambled.”

“What was it?”

“Tnetennba.”

“Oh. Do you have your episode taped?”

Moss grinned. “I have it  _bookmarked_.”

“You could come and watch that movie of yours at my place,” Jen said quickly. “I don’t have a portable DVD player, but, uh… _Two English Girls_? It sounds good. And then we could squeeze in a little  _Dirty Dancing_  afterwards, eh?”

Imogene winced. “I don’t know. Are you into Truffaut?”

Jen scoffed. “Yes! Of course! I love Truffaut. Who isn’t into Truffaut? If you don’t like Truffaut then you can bugger off!”

“Oh, really? Which film of his is your favorite?”

Jen glanced at the poster behind Imogene. “ _The 400 Blows_. Yeah. I like that one. Especially the actor who plays that one boy.”

“Jean-Pierre Leaud?”

“Yeah, him. He’s ruddy good-looking, ain’t he?”

Imogene raised her eyebrows. “He’s a kid.”

“For a kid.”

“What’s it about?” Moss asked.

“ _Two English Girls_? I’m not exactly sure,” Imogene answered, leaning back in her chair. “I’ve heard it’s about childhood. But it’s French, and it’s a lesser-known Truffaut work. I think it’s more escapist than anything, which is good. I like escapist.”

“Sounds boring.”

“It might be. I don’t know. I haven’t seen it yet. Oh, look at that. I’m out of tea. I’m going to go make myself some more.”

She took her coffee cup with her and went to the back kitchen. Moss and Jen both gave Roy looks as he scrolled through something on his computer. After a moment or two, he finally looked up at them. “What are you two looking at?”

“A ‘computer company spy’?” Jen reiterated.

Roy gestured towards the kitchen. “You don’t see it?”

“She has the attention span of a small dog. And she seems much more interested in bizarre movies than ‘ripping an enterprise apart at the seams’.”

“Oh, so now you’re warming up to her? And for what, because she likes the same rom-coms as you?”

“ _I_  like the same rom-coms as you, Jen,” said Moss. “And it took you forever to warm up to  _me_  like this.”

“Well, you didn’t exactly make it easy!” Jen snarled. “You told the entire office I was dead!”

“You know I can’t lie under pressure! Quit attacking me! I feel attacked!”

Imogene poked her head out of the kitchen. “Does anyone else want tea or coffee or anything like that?”

“No,” said Roy and Jen in unison.

“I would like a coffee, please!” Moss piped up.

“Okay!”

She disappeared again and the others continued their conversation.

“I really think you need to settle down, Roy,” Jen laughed. “Imogene is very naïve. Even if there is some scandal going on—”

“HA! So you admit it!”

“Sh! Even if there is  _something suspicious_  going on, I don’t think she knows about it. She doesn’t have the air of it about her, anyway. Take my word for it as a people person. I know people. I know  _suspicious_  people. And that girl in there is the exact opposite of suspicious.”

“I like her,” said Moss. “She’s interesting. And she knows a lot more about computers than Jen. She and I debated about Microsoft vs. Apple for an hour yesterday. She gave a very compelling argument. Of course, we were both on the same side.”

Roy frowned. “Apple?”

Moss gave him a look of contempt. “Microsoft. Do you really think I’m that foolish, Roy? I’d rather die than give money to those flipping dockers at Apple. Oh, the horror.”


	10. Standard Schemes

Soon, the workday was over, but Roy’s suspicions were not. He was determined to find out what this new work colleague of his was up to, and use whatever means necessary to uncover the truth.

He made sure to wait until after Jen had gone home, pretending to have a few extra things to do—although it was rather hard to convince her of this as he  _never_ had any extra things to do, and even if he did he wouldn’t do them—in order to get some time with Imogene. She was also staying a bit late to finish something, though Roy had no idea what. He figured it was fanfiction. Sometimes she would churn out quick chapters during her lunch break, her fingers typing furiously at her keyboard and her eyeballs superglued to her screen. It was like she was a slave to the monitor. He could stare at her for hours.

Well, maybe not hours. One can only stare at a Marvel-obsessed zombie for so long before they begin to feel bad about themselves and the state of the human race.

Right when Moss was zipping up his jacket to go home, Roy pulled him aside and whispered the plan in his ear. “Moss, once you two are alone, you have to go ask Imogene what’s going on.”

Moss’s eyes widened and he quickly darted towards the door, but Roy grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

“No, Roy!” Moss whispered. “I won’t do it! I  _won’t_! Why does it have to be  _me_?”

“She likes you, Moss! You’re the only one who can!”

Moss stopped for a second. “What do you mean, ‘she likes me’?”

“Well, you’re definitely her favorite out of all of us.”

“Do you mean as a friend?”

Roy put on the biggest, falsest smile he could. “How will you know unless you go over and talk to her?”

Moss scrunched up his mouth. “I’m not helping you indulge in your suspicions, Roy.  _Especially_  if Imogene likes me the best.”

She looked up from her desk. “Are you guys talking about me?”

“Oh, no!” Roy laughed. “We’re talking about—”

“Cheese making!” Moss yelled.

“Yeah, that.” Roy nudged Moss’s shoulder, then went to grab his jacket. “I think I’m heading out. Moss, don’t forget to  _finish that thing_  for tomorrow.”

He frowned. “What thing?”

Roy rolled his eyes. “ _That thing_  that I just told you about! Literally three seconds ago!”

“ _Oh_. You mean the birth control version of Donkey Kong where he whips condoms at Mario? Yeah, I can have that done in five minutes.”

“NO! For God’s sake, come here.”

Roy went over to him and whispered it in his ear again. Moss cried, “Oh, no! Not that!”

“You know what? Just forget it.”

“You two are so funny,” Imogene giggled.

Roy gave him another look and then left. “Have a nice weekend, Moss.”

“Thanks, Roy,” he responded quietly.

Moss and Imogene were left alone to exchange awkward and nervous glances with each other.

“Are you really going to make a birth control version of Donkey Kong?” she asked.

“Yes,” Moss said quietly.

“Would it really take you five minutes?”

“Maybe ten.”

“That’s…not very long. I mean, something like that would probably take me weeks.” She paused, licking her dry, chapped lips. “What were you and Roy whispering about?”

Moss’s eyes widened and he began glancing from side to side. “Uh…”

“Oh, never mind. It was obviously private. I should mind my own business. Silly me. Weird little Imogene, always being so nosy!” She faux laughed, then looked back at her computer screen. “Hey, um, I’m worried Peter is too OOC. And, you know, you’re my best reader–you’re like my only reader–so, uh, I figured you would know…Would you mind looking over this chapter for me?”

“Not at all.”

Moss came back behind her desk and began reading the text in his head. She blushed a little in the awkward silence. After about a minute, he asked, “Could you scroll down a bit?”

“Sure. It’s really wordy, sorry.”

More silent reading, then, “This is the Tom Holland incarnation of Spider-Man?”

“Of course it is. All the other ones were crapballs.”

“Agreed. Although, Tobey Maguire was adequate.”

“Tobey Maguire was too gloomy. But at least his villains were interesting, especially Sandman and Venom.”

“Oh! Remember when Spider-Man had to fight Sandman  _and_  Venom  _and_  enlist the help of Green Goblin? Brilliant.”

“I know! I liked that part, too. I cried when Harry showed up. So what do you think? Is he in character? Or does he need to be more nervous-high-school-kid?”

“I think he’s an  _extremely_  nervous high school kid.”

“Oh.” She paused. “Really?”

“Yes. However, Kitty is a bit bland. You could spice up her dialogue a bit.”

“Ugh. I know. I just have such a hard time hearing Ellen Page’s voice in my head. I keep getting Juno and not Kitty.”

Moss suddenly had a serious look in his eye. “Lend me your swivel chair.”

She stood up reluctantly. “Sure…”

Imogene stood over Moss as he slid off his backpack and set it on the floor next to him. He scooted into her desk and set his fingertips gently on Gregory’s keyboard. “The scene is set. The portal to Earth one-zero-zero-zero-five has been opened, and most of the X-Men have leapt through. However, one still has to go—Kitty Pryde A.K.A. Shadowcat, who is using her final minutes in this dimension to confess her enduring feelings for Peter Parker A.K.A. Spider-Man, a love that transcends space-time.”

“God, when  _you_  say it, it sounds so much more exciting!”

“Oh, it  _is_  exciting.  _I’m_ excited just thinking about it! I feel like a spy, getting all this inside information before the chapter’s posted. This is better than a leaked chapter of the next  _Harry Potter_!”

“Aw, thanks.”

“You’re very welcome. Alright, let’s get to it. This patch of dialogue right here where Kitty is confessing to Peter.”

“Uh-huh.”

“This is where it gets boring. Kitty is just saying the same thing over and over again. ‘Peter, I love you. Our love transcends all things. I will love you until the Earth blows up and there won’t even  _be_  dimensions to go back to. We’re soulmates.’ It gets a bit repetitive. So, what  _I_  suggest—”

“Wait one second! I have an idea. Move over.”

She reached down to the keyboard, and Moss swiveled aside as she typed something in and then quickly stood back up again. He read the patch of text and said, “Yes, much better than what I had in mind! That’s absolutely brilliant! I’m flattered you asked me for help, Imogene, but I really can’t work magic like you. Chairman Wow!”

“I’m the one being flattered. You’re  _way_  too nice to me. Now, where else does it get screwy?”

“Over here.” He scrolled down a bit. “The kiss scene.”

“Oh, yeah. They don’t relish in it enough, do they?”

“No. She’s leaving to a different dimension, for flip’s sake. Odds are they’ll never see each other again. You have to make the moment last.”

“Ooh. I don’t know. Any ideas?”

“Well, let’s try…” He deleted a section of text and quickly typed something in. “There.”

“Wow. That was fast.” She squinted to read it. “ _Peter looked into Kitty’s big brown eyes, eyes the color of trees in a forest, of the soil of the Earth he walked on, of the soil of the Earth she would soon be returning home to._  Wow. That’s…something else.  _He caressed the soft cheek he’d desired so many times, letting his touch linger there for just a moment, and then leaned in just slightly so that her lips could more easily connect with his. Peter had never been kissed like this before, like their lips were universe meeting universe, gods touching man, meteorites crashing into a planet. He gripped her like he was holding onto life itself, for she was life itself. Peter knew he’d never find anyone quite like Kitty Pryde again. It was when she disconnected that he knew for sure it was true._  Oh. That’s so sad! I think I’m going to cry.”

“That is the objective, yes.”

“That’s some  _killer_  description, man.  _You_  should write fic.”

He bowed his head. “Thank you. But I learn from the best, of course.”

Roy came back into the room. “I forgot my scarf—what are you two doing?”

“Moss is helping me with  _As You Don’t Like It_!” Imogene exclaimed.

“What?”

“I think this chapter is ready to be published,” Moss said.

“Would you do the honors?” Imogene asked.

“It is not my place.” He gestured to the mouse, and Imogene clicked the button in the corner. “Our work here is done. All we can do is hope for the best.”

“Phew!”

Roy frowned at them. “Moss, what about that thing I told you to do? Did you finish it yet?”

“Oh, uh…” His eyes were wide as he glanced from Imogene to Roy to Imogene to Roy to the computer to Imogene to Roy. “I’ve been a bit busy.”

Imogene frowned. “What is it? Can I help?”

Roy shook his head. “You know what? Never mind. It can wait.”

He grabbed his scarf from his desk and left. Imogene looked down at Moss again.

“Walk me home?” she asked.

“I’d be honored,” he replied. “I live in the same direction as you. It’s only practical. Besides, I’d love to discuss the last chapter with you.”

“Anything for my biggest fan. Besides, two heads are better than one when it comes to these things.”


	11. Standard Rec Sharing

“I can’t believe you haven’t read  _Harry Potter_!”

“I can’t believe  _you_  haven’t seen  _The Last Starfighter_!”

“I saw  _part_  of it,” Moss insisted. “It’s just not my style.”

“What are you talking about? It’s totally your style! Aliens and spaceships and video games—that’s, like, everything you’ve ever loved.”

“Not  _everything,_ Imogene. You’re forgetting dragons, computers, computer-generated dragons, the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster—”

“Okay, so maybe not  _everything_ , but I still think you’d totally love it.”

It was a nice evening, the perfect evening to walk home instead of drive or take the bus. Imogene liked London nightlife–well, technically mid-afternoon life. She liked how the cloudy grey sky was like a warm, snuggly blanket over the city, and how the cars droned and dragged across the pavement after a long day at work. The city’s movement was constant and calming. She’d only been in England two weeks, and she was already in love.

“Well,” Moss continued. “If  _I_  have to watch  _The Last Starfighter_ , then  _you_  have to read the entire  _Harry Potter_ series.”

Imogene laughed. “That’s not fair. It’ll take me forever!”

“Of course it’s fair!” Moss dictated. “It is imperative that you read each book to feel the full effect of the saga. You can’t read  _The Philosopher’s Stone_ and call it a day. You’re missing the best part of the story.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll read it…but on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

She pointed a finger at him. “Tonight, I’m going to make a list of must-see movies, and you have to watch all of them in the time it takes me to read  _Harry Potter_.”

“But films take much less time to finish than books do.”

“Not when the list is over a hundred titles long.”

Moss’s eyes widened. “One hundred titles long?”

“Yep,” she said pridefully, sticking her nose in the air.

He shook his head and smiled. “I doubt you can make a list that long.  _I_ can’t even make a list that long. And I bet  _Roy_  couldn’t do it either, and he’s seen just about everything there is.”

“So have I. Try me.”

“You’d have to google some.”

“Wrong. I swear I won’t use Google.”

“You’d have to ask someone for assistance.”

“Who would I ask?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Oh, alright. It’s a deal. You read  _Harry Potter_ , I watch films.”

He held out his hand and she shook it. He had very nice hands, with fingers that were somewhat nimble but had a secure grip nonetheless. Imogene blushed a little when they pulled away from hers, and hoped Moss didn’t notice.

“So where do  _you_  live?” she asked him.

“Winchester Street.”

“Winchester Street? Where’s that?”

“Um…it’s a house.”

“Oh, you have a house?”

“Not really. It’s my mum’s house.”

Moss glanced at her, expecting the usual look of disgust people gave him when they found out he still lived with his mother, but Imogene didn’t bat an eye.

“Oh, yeah? I just moved out of my parents’ house to come here.”

“Well, that’s different,” he said sheepishly. “They probably live in a mansion with how rich they are.”

She frowned. “It’s not  _that_  different. I mean, sure, there’s a home theater and an indoor pool and an ENTIRE ROOM just for playing video games, but…eh.”

His eyes widened. “An  _entire room_?! Just for video games?!”

“Yeah, my sister Henrietta is a huge gamer. She completed  _Ocarina of Time_  in, like, a day. I’m not that good, though. The home theater is more my speed.”

“ _Your_  mum’s house sounds like heaven on Earth.”

“Mm…” She licked her lips. “I don’t know. It’s kind of fun, I guess. But it can get lonely in a big house if it’s just four people living there. Especially when you’re sitting in a home theater with nothing but a giant screen to keep you company.”

Moss frowned. “Doesn’t sound lonely at all.”

“Well…” Imogene smiled. “I guess not when you have all the  _Star Wars_  characters life-sized right in front of you.” Suddenly, she paused, and her face turned a bit flushed. “Oh, no. Was that bragging? It felt like bragging. I’m sorry. I feel like I’m bragging right now. I always vowed never to be a snobby rich kid, and now here I go  _bragging_  to everyone.”

“Oh, no, I’d  _kill_  for my own home theater. It’s a lot better than having to share a telly with my MUM. She  _never_  lets me watch what I want. It’s always  _Grey’s Anatomy_  or  _Downton Abbey_  or  _Coronation Street_. I hate  _Coronation Street_! And when I have movie marathons with Roy, we can never figure out the perfect distance between the couch and the telly. It’s such a nuisance. A home theater would solve all my problems.”

“Well, next time you visit America, I’ll make sure you get a front-row seat in the Eklund Home Theater.”

“I’ve never been to America.”

“Oh. Well, it’s mostly just full of a-holes anyway.”

He gasped. “Watch your language!”

“Sorry. I should have said…” Imogene paused for a beat. “Fudgebunnies. Americans are mostly fudgebunnies. There.”

“What’s a fudgebunny?”

“A bunny stuck in some fudge. What else?”

They stopped at a street corner and waited to cross. Imogene fiddled with the zipper on her coat, pulling it up and down and up and down. It was something she did when she was nervous. Finally the cars cleared and they could cross the street.

“So tell me about yourself a little more,” she said quickly.

“Why?” Moss asked with a befuddled frown.

“Because…I want to know more about you than just your  _fandoms_.”

She liked the way he made rigid, awkward little movements with his head when he was confused. “What else is there to know?”

“I don’t know…how old are you?”

“Thirty-six.”

“Oh, really? I would have said younger.”

He bowed his head. “Thank you.”

“What’s your favorite movie?”

“ _Masters of the Universe_. What’s yours?”

“ _Moonrise Kingdom_.”

“Is that about a kingdom on a moon?”

She couldn’t help but sigh a bit in disappointment. “No, it’s a love story.”

“Ah,” he grinned, straightening up a bit. “So you’re the ‘romantic’ type.”

“Mm…I would say so, yeah.” She hesitated a little before asking, “Are  _you_?”

“Gladly!” Moss boasted. “I have quite a good track record with the ladies.”

“Are you a player?” she laughed.

“No,” he scoffed. “Of course not. I may be adept at sexually manipulating women, but getting them in the first place has always proven quite a challenge. However, I do have a much smoother repertoire than Roy. I can’t think of a break-up he had that didn’t end in a severe beating, and  _he_  has a different woman every week!”

“Ooh!” Imogene winced. “That sounds…painful.”

“Yes, it is often difficult for Roy to feel safe in his workplace environment, what with the constant abuse.”

“I can’t believe that. He’s such a nice guy.” She paused. “Nope, wait…I can believe it. But I can’t deny he’s a nice guy.”

“He is. Roy and I are best friends. We’ve been through  _everything_  together. Break-ups, breakdowns, unexpected visits from Aunt Irma, embarrassments on live television, the Iraq War—”

“You were in Iraq?”

“No, but we watched coverage of it on the telly. Is this your street?”

Imogene turned and looked at the familiar, dingy road that led to Ginger’s apartment building. She didn’t want to go home. Ginger was probably still knee-deep in crisis, and Imogene did not have the time nor patience to deal with her after such a nice day at the office, and such a lovely evening walk with Moss.

She thought about lying, saying that they had to go another block still to find her place, but instead just forced out, “Yep, this is my street…unfortunately.”

“What’s unfortunate about it?” Moss asked. “There are a million things one can do inside the home instead of outside. Many  _more_  things, in fact. For instance, you can now commence creating your must-see movie list. I bet  _that_  will be extremely entertaining, as well as occupying. Or, you could get a head start on the next chapter of AYDLI, the scene where the X-Men and Avengers must readjust to the status quo, or you could start rereading  _Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone_ , or—wait, I almost forgot.”

Moss swung his backpack over his shoulder and knelt down on the ground, unzipping it and pulling out a large, thick book in a plastic sheath. He stood up and handed the book to Imogene.

“You could also start reading this,” he suggested.

She gasped. “Is this for  _me_?”

“Not  _for_  you. I’m letting you  _borrow_  it.”

“But it’s… _Judge Dredd: Case Files 01_. You  _love_  Judge Dredd.”

“That’s the idea!” he chuckled. “I’m spreading my Judge Dredd appreciation to you. Any chance I can educate another person in superhero lore, I  _seize_. And I daresay this is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

She took the book, examining it with a delicate touch. “Moss, I can’t. I just–What if I wreck it?”

Suddenly his stare was intense and his voice was quieter than a whisper.

“If you so much as tear a page, I will personally make your life more miserable, more unpleasant, and more unsettling than the Rotten Tomatoes audience score for  _The Last Jedi_.”

“Well, I’m a bit worried because my, uh…” She inhaled. “My roommate drinks a lot of wine, and I’m worried she’ll spill something on it because she’s really messy—but I can read it in the office tomorrow, during my lunch break.”

“Far away from food and beverages, of course?”

“Hells yeah, man,” she said nonchalantly as she handed the book back to him. “I’m not stupid.”

“I know,” he replied, placing the book back into his backpack and zipping it up. “You’re very smart.”

She hesitated before speaking, letting his words sink in, and then laughed to shake off her nervousness. “You know, we should really stop recommending so many things to each other. Pretty soon we’ll both have more books and comics and movies than either one of us knows what to deal with. I mean, it’s been a week and I’m already giving you  _seventy movies_  to watch…”

“I agree. Although I’m really looking forward to that list of films. You made  _The Last Starfighter_  sound so intriguing!”

“I can just email it to you and you can watch some of them this weekend…if you’re not busy, of course. What’s your email? Assuming you have an email. It’s fine if you don’t have an email–I just got mine last year.”

Moss scoffed. “Of course I have an email. What sort of civilized person doesn’t have their own email?”

“Right. Oh—I think I have a piece of paper somewhere—”

She fumbled around in her coat pocket for one. Usually she had a pen or two hiding around in there, also. Imogene was notorious for coming up with fic ideas on the go, and feeling the desperate need to scribble them down anywhere she could.

“It’s ‘mauricemoss’, no capitals—” he began.

She pulled out a small blue stack. “Here, sticky notes! Huzzah! Now tell me again.”

“Alright, it’s ‘mauricemoss18@mail.co.uk’. No capitals, the ‘at’ is the symbol, not the word, ‘eighteen’ is the number and not the word, ‘dot’ is a dot and not a word, ‘co’ is spelled C-O, ‘UK’ is  _not_  capitalized…”

“Okay, got it. Do you want mine?”

He shrugged. “Why not?”

She pulled out another sticky note, scribbled something down, and handed it to him.

“‘imogenius@gmail.com’?” he asked with a smile and a shake of his head. “Brilliant! You took your own name and combined it with ‘genius’. And it also looks like ‘I’m a genius’! Chairman Wow!”

“Aw, you like it?”

“I love it. I’m really looking forward to getting your movie list, just so I can get a message from this address.”

“And  _I’m_  looking forward to seeing more Peeves action—and also being reminded who Peeves is.”

“The friendly ghost, of course! My favorite!”

She licked her lips. “Sorry I didn’t borrow  _Judge Dredd_. I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings.”

“Nah, it’s better than wine stains all over Mega-City One.”

“Yeah.”

They stood in silence for a moment. Awkward silence. Imogene didn’t know whether to turn around and walk away or to continue talking to Moss. She kind of wanted to do both at the same time. Her insides were all tied up in knots.

Then Moss went and solved everything.

“Bye!” he yelled, holding up a hand.

“Bye!” she laughed. “Have a nice night.”

“You, too,  _Imogenius_.”

She smiled at that, and was still smiling when she pushed open the door to the building.

And the door to the apartment.

And the door to her bedroom.


	12. Standard Revenge Plots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now the fun begins.

Roy couldn’t get ahold of Moss all weekend, so he didn’t see him until he walked into work the following Monday.

“Hello, Moss!” he said sarcastically. “Thank God you’re alive!”

“Barely,” his mate scoffed, shaking his head. “My mum had me out shopping for clothes on Saturday  _and_  Sunday. I wish I could have called you, Roy, but my mobile died while I was trapped…” His expression turned sour. “At…Fenwick.”

Jen swiveled over in her office so she could peek at them out of the doorframe. “You were at Fenwick this weekend?”

“Yes,” he said nervously.

“ _I_ was at Fenwick. Did you hear about the guy who got trapped in the toilet?” She gave her signature high-pitched, howling laugh. “ _Hilarious._ ”

Moss glanced back at Roy and whispered, “I was trapped in the toilet at Fenwick.”

“Oh, no,” Roy said quietly. “For how long?”

“Three hours.”

“What? How could you be trapped in the toilet for three hours?”

“I don’t know, but I think it had something to do with the toilet guy! He was very suspicious-looking. An angry, embittered old man. And he looked  _exactly_  like the one from when we went to the theatre.”

Roy gasped. “Maybe it was the same one! Seeking to ruin every toilet experience he possibly can.”

“It sure looked like him.” Moss took off his coat and hung it up on the hook by the door, then removed his backpack and sat down in his desk. “Same moustache, knotted-up face, balding scalp. Everything. I was barely able to go at all.”

“The travesty. Pretty soon, no man will  _ever_ be able to go to the public toilet.” Roy frowned. “Were you trapped in a stall, or…?”

“In a stall, yes,” Moss confirmed. “I had to go number two. I tried to get out and the door wouldn’t open.”

“Aw. Bloody hell.”

“Yes, that.”

“Perhaps you should plot revenge,” said a melancholy voice out of the blue.

Both turned to see none other than Richmond Avenal standing in the doorway, wearing his usual all-black attire, although this time he had a shorter black fringe haircut, a t-shirt, and skinny jeans.

“Richmond’s back from Vladivostok!” Moss exclaimed, pointing to him. “And he’s gone back to goth!”

“Quite the opposite,” Richmond said gloomily. “I’m emo now. I would assume this is evident from my attire being a throwback to 2005. But never mind all that, let me tell you my story.”

He moved to the center of the room and looked off into the distance, moving his hands in that mysterious gesture. Moss tried to look in the same direction as him, but Roy just rolled his eyes and didn’t bother.

Jen marched into the office. “What is going—AAAAAGGHHH! Oh, Richmond, it’s just you. How was your holiday?”

“Don’t even ask,” Roy mumbled.

“Shut up, I want to hear this!” Moss scolded.

“These past few years,” Richmond recounted. “Living in the outside world again, I began to realize how much everything has changed. The world is cruel to goths these days, more so than they were before. People hear the word ‘goth’ and think, ‘oh, that is so 1980s. Now let me take a picture for my Instagram.’ I thought I could solve the problem by leaving my goth persona behind, but that just didn’t work out for me. I missed my all-black wardrobe and my dyed black hair. And then I listened to this great new band called My Chemical Romance—”

“Okay,” Roy said. “That’s enough of that. Why don’t you just go right along now and get back behind the red door.”

“Roy!” Jen said angrily. “I thought we were past that!”

“I think  _I_  am,” Richmond sighed, coming out of his trance. “I’ve moved on now. I work at a great store called Cool Subject. I’m the manager. Everyone who works there is really nice. The only issue is that all the shirts and things are more expensive than a funeral. This entire outfit was three hundred quid.”

“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle!” Moss exclaimed. “That is totally unfair!”

“But anyway, I just stopped by to say hi and see how the flashing lights are doing. I’ve grown to miss them, in a small way.  _Flash. Flash. Double flash._  They’re the most reliable friends I’ve ever had. That and my white cup.”

“I had a white cup once,” Moss said sadly.

“I thought we were done hearing about that,” Roy almost yelled. “You know what—Did everyone go mad this weekend, or is it just me? Because Moss got stuck in a toilet, Richmond went emu—”

“Wait,” Jen exclaimed, her eyes widening. “Moss, that was YOU?”

“Please don’t tell anyone!” he cried.

“It was because of the bloody toilet guy!” Roy yelled. “He’s been going around invading every toilet in sight. First he was at the theatre, now he’s at Fenwick—”

“He’s been at Cool Subject, too,” Richmond chimed in. “Balding man, constantly angry face? I know him. We hired him last month and immediately increased a two hundred percent drop in our customer service ratings. We had to let him go, poor fellow.”

“I told you!” Roy said to Moss. “Even Cool Subject has felt the Wrath of the Nasty  Toilet Guy.”

“Like I said,” Richmond repeated. “You two should plot revenge or something. If he’s already leveled up to Fenwick, who knows where he’ll be next? Selfridge’s?”

“You’ve all gone mad,” Jen decided. “I mean, normally you’re mad, but today…you’re crazy. I’m seriously considering just taking the day off.”

“You do that,” Roy suggested nonchalantly. “You look like you could use a breather.”

“Oh,” Jen chuckled. “Well, maybe you’re not mad after all.”

“Hi, guys!” Imogene said happily, taking her coat off as she entered the room. “How was all of your weekends? Oh, Moss, I finished the first  _Harry Potter_  again. It was even better than I remembered it!”

She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw his tormented expression. “What’s the matter? You all look pretty…shook.”

Moss and Roy exchanged worried glances.

“Oh, nothing,” Jen said cheerily. “They’re just up to their usual shenanigans again.” Her face fell and she shoved the folder she was carrying into Imogene’s hands. “Here, organize this…file.”

“But it’s already in a folder.”

“It’s a very messy folder. I’m going to the toilet.”

She was off. The entire room was quiet. Imogene cleared her throat and went to her desk, then suddenly glanced up at Richmond.

“Oh, hi! I’m Imogene. What’s your name? Nice MCR t-shirt! Are you emo? I was emo once!”

“DON’T—let him answer,” Roy said quickly.

“I better say hello to the flashing lights,” Richmond said sadly. “I’ve missed them quite a bit. Especially that old bloke, Double Flash.”

He snuck behind the red door and disappeared. Imogene’s uplifted expression was now downcast as she sat down in her swivel chair.

“Is everyone in a bad mood?” she asked.

Moss and Roy exchanged more nervous expressions and didn’t respond.

“Okay…” Imogene sighed, and opened up the folder to shift through the papers.

Moss looked to Roy in fear, and Roy whispered, “Don’t tell her!”

“Why not?” he whispered back.

“Because!”

“Why not?!”

“She won’t understand this sort of thing!”

“I can hear you two whispering, you know,” she said shakily.

More worried looks. Then Moss blurted, “ROY AND I ARE SEEKING REVENGE ON A TOILET GUY!”

She looked up with big eyes. “What?”

“Moss!” Roy scolded.

“It’s true,” Moss said quickly. “We met an angry toilet guy at the theatre when we went to see  _Gay: A Gay Musical_  and he was a very nasty person and neither one of us could wee and Roy had to use the disabled and I had to use the staff and everyone thought Roy was disabled and I was staff and Roy ended up in Manchester and it’s ALL HIS FAULT!”

Imogene stared at them. “Uh…what?”

“It’s a long, embarrassing story,” Roy explained. “Very embarrassing. But um…We may or may not have uncovered a secret scandal involving an evil toilet guy.”

“He’s been going to different stores and invading their toilets!” Moss shrieked.

“Yes, that.”

“I want revenge, Roy!” Moss said angrily. “That man robbed me of a good wee!”

“Okay…” Imogene said with disgust. “That was  _not_ something I needed to hear.”

“Phew,” Richmond said, reentering the office from the red door. “Boy, did I miss that lot.” He paused and looked around at everyone. “What’s going on? Have we figured out a plan to get rid of Kyle Lewis?”

“Is that his name?” Roy asked.

“I believe so,” Richmond nodded. “Either that or Dave Wellington. One of those.”

“I’m going to find him on Friendface! Moss, you look for Dave Wellington.”

“Is this an actual plan? Should I put on my  _slightly larger_  glasses?”

“I think he has twelve percent of a plan,” Imogene said, with a hint of a smile on her lips.

Moss looked at her. “Did you just reference  _Guardians of the Galaxy_?”

“Of course I did.”

“Brilliant.”

Moss put on his slightly larger glasses and he and Roy began typing furiously at their computers. Imogene and Richmond exchanged looks.

“I might as well leave you all to it,” said Richmond. “Nice to see everyone. And nice to meet you—whatever your name is.”

“Imogene,” she said.

“Oh, what a lovely name. I’m Richmond.”

“Just go!” Roy snapped.

“Don’t be  _mean_  to him,” she whined. “He didn’t do anything!”

“I can’t help but think that Richmond might be of some use to us, Roy,” said Moss, folding his hands over his desk. “Considering he likely knows about the current whereabouts of Kyle Lewis.”

“I found him on Friendface!” Roy yelled. “He’s set his current mood to  _sensual._ ”

“Oh, no!” Moss winced. “Really?”

“It says he works at Fenwick as a restroom attendant during the day, and at some French restaurant at night.”

“I bet he’s at Fenwick now,” Richmond pointed out.

Roy and Moss looked at each other again.

“Are you busy?” Roy asked.

“I arrived here ten minutes ago,” Moss said slowly. “And I’m already bored out of my flipping mind.”

“Well, I’m not busy.”

They stared at each other again.

Imogene frowned. “ _I’m_  busy.”

“How exactly are we going to go about this?” Moss asked Roy.

“Well, uh…” Roy thought for a moment. “I think I have about fifty percent of a plan now.”

“Smashing! Alright, now hit me up.”

“Okay, so, uh…we go into the Fenwick bathroom, and we get a bunch of chocolate—”

“And we put it in his lunchbox!”

“No, Moss. That would be a very nice surprise. We want  _revenge_  here. So, what we do is we get some chocolate, like a bunch of chocolate, and it could be chocolate sauce like from Hershey’s, and we smear it all over the floor.”

Moss frowned. “Wouldn’t that  _also_  be a nice surprise?”

Roy stared at him. “How would that be a nice surprise? In what way is that nice? It’s meant to be shit.”

“Wouldn’t it smell like chocolate?” Imogene thought out loud.

“Actually,” Richmond said, spinning around to be in the center of the room with a wicked smile on his face. “It is important to note that Kyle Lewis suffers from hyposmia—decreased ability to smell.”

“That is literally  _the_  most convenient thing I’ve ever heard!” Roy exclaimed.

“Chairman Wow!” Moss laughed. “Psychic powers! Whoa!”

“You know what? Let’s do it. We can pick up some chocolate sauce at the store and then go to Fenwick and get back at Kyle Lewis for what he did to us.”

“For sending  _you_  to Manchester!”

“The wound is still fresh. Okay, let’s go. Right now.”

They all stood up and began gathering their coats.

“I’d like to see this,” said Richmond.

“Nah,” said Roy. “This is more of a personal thing. Besides, you don’t know the whole story.”

“Can I come, too?” Imogene asked.

“Yes,” said Moss.

“You can’t even _go_  into the men’s toilets,” Roy sighed. “It’s best if you just stay behind.”

“I can be the lookout!” she said happily.

“She can come,” Moss said again. “But Richmond has to stay.”

“Yay! Oh, sorry Richmond. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Moss, Roy, and Imogene filed out of the room, with Richmond stalking close behind. The office went silent. Then Jen came back into the room to grab some more coffee.

“What are you all—” She stopped dead in her tracks when she noticed the emptiness. “Boys? Boys? Moss? Roy? Imogene?”

She looked around for a moment, then sat on Moss’s desk.

“Those bloody bastards.”


	13. Standard Work Outings

Roy, Moss, and Imogene (with Richmond following close behind) arrived at the grocery store in about half an hour. It took fifteen minutes to buy the chocolate sauce because Imogene wanted organic while Roy wanted to save money with the cheaper name brand. The gang ended up buying two bottles of the off-brand to compromise, and then they headed off to Fenwick.

Once they were outside the building, which loomed over them like a castle instead of a department store, Moss leaned next to his best mate and whispered, “I wouldn’t like to go back in there, Roy. It was a traumatic experience.”

“Oh, quit being so hyperbolic,” Imogene scoffed. “And stop whispering. I can hear everything you’re saying, you know.”

“You weren’t there,” Moss said gravely. “You have no idea what horrors await us in this wretched place.”

“It looks nice inside,” she replied.

“That’s a disguise meant to deceive all who enter!”

“Let’s just go,” said Roy. “We’ll get in, get out, and head right back to work after.”

“Sounds good,” said Imogene.

They opened up the big glass double doors and went inside. The store was extremely white, with stark white linoleum and white ceilings and bright white lights. The clothes were hung on white racks or set on white shelves. It was a bit like the Mall of America back in, well, America. Imogene was a bit in awe of the whole place.

“Ooh, I like that dress—” she said, reaching for a rack.

“No!” said Roy, grabbing her arm. “That’s not what we’re here for. Remember the plan!”

“But it looks like something Margot Tenenbaum would wear!”

“Oh no!” Moss cried out.

“What is it?” Imogene asked.

He winced. “I accidentally left on my slightly larger glasses.”

“Oh yeah. I thought there was something different about you. Your eyes are much bigger.”

“So is everything in the store. Your face is very large right now.”

“How did you not notice this  _before_?” Roy whined.

“I was rather anxious, Roy. It’s hard to remember what glasses you’re wearing while trying to prevent yourself from reliving a traumatic experience.”

“That  _is_  true,” said Imogene, adjusting her own glasses. “Now, where’s the men’s bathroom? I mean loo. Is that what you say here? ‘Loo’? I heard that once. Or is it the lavatory?”

There was the sound of a large crash and everyone in the store looked to see that Richmond had tipped over a clothing rack, spilling dresses all over the floor in a heap.

“Richmond, what are you  _doing_?!” Roy hissed, walking over to him.

“Sorry,” he said gloomily. “I was trying to hide behind these outfits so you wouldn’t see me, but I suppose I’m just a bit too tall.”

Roy shook his head. “God, I have to be everyone’s babysitter.”

“What do  _you_  think, Roy?” asked Imogene, holding a blue dress up over her clothes. “Is it my color or not? Moss says it is but I don’t believe him.”

“Put that down!”

“Aw. But I’m only having a little fun.”

“This isn’t fun at all,” said Moss. “I don’t want to see Kyle again. His scrunched-up little moustache. His imposing figure. I might faint just thinking about it.”

“Maybe he’s just a sad old man,” Imogene shrugged.

“You’re not helping,” Roy told her. “This is supposed to be a  _revenge_  plot.”

“Never generate sympathy for your enemies,” said Richmond. “Or anyone, for that matter. We’re all going to die anyway. What’s the point of it all?”

“Not the time for existential crisis, Richmond,” Roy almost yelled. “NOT THE TIME.”

“You have a very large nose, Roy,” Moss observed. “It’s larger than the rest of your face. Abnormally so. Have you thought about getting some work done?”

“Do you want to borrow  _my_  glasses?” Imogene asked him.

“I think that would be better, yes. These seem to be doing more harm than good.”

They switched pairs, and Imogene said, “Whoa.”

“Great,” said Roy. “Now you’ve got Moss wearing a pair of  _lady’s glasses_. Holy shite does he look like his mother.”

Moss turned around to look in a mirror. “AAAAAAAAAAGGGGHHHHH!”

“I don’t even think—” Imogene put her hands out in front of her and took a step forward. She looked like she was walking on the moon. “Who the hell made these? I can’t see two inches in front of my face.”

“Can’t we just stop fooling around and get this over with?” Roy asked. “Moss, give Imogene her glasses back. Richmond, don’t hide in any more clothing racks. Imogene, no more dresses; we’re not on a girl’s night out!”

“Oh, I’d  _love_  a girl’s night out!” Moss exclaimed. “Can we have one again?”

“NO!” Roy grabbed Moss’s shoulders. “Moss, you need to focus. That way, we can both achieve closure from all the horrible things that toilet-cleaning bastard did to us.”

He paused. “I really can’t take you seriously in those glasses.”

Moss removed them and switched them back out for the large ones. “Is that better?”

“No, that’s worse. Alright, Moss. Where are the men’s toilets?”

“The basement.”

“Huzzah!” Imogene exclaimed. “Onward, soldiers.”

The crew made their way to the basement, Richmond in a lurking pose and Imogene doing some sort of crazy prance. Moss bumped into a mannequin and Roy had to catch it as it fell over. Finally they were in front of the men’s toilets, which were labeled the ‘cloakroom’.

“Are you sure this is the bathroom?” Imogene asked. “I mean loo.”

“It’s just labeled differently,” Roy said tiredly. “Now, one of us needs to go in there and survey the area. Who’s it going to be?”

Moss stared at him. “I can’t go back in there, Roy.”

“I’m kind of a woman,” said Imogene. “So no.”

“I’ll do it,” said Richmond.

“Okay,” Roy instructed. “So all you have to do is go inside and find out if Kyle’s in there. Just to make sure. You know what he looks like, right?”

“Yes.”

“He’s the meanest-looking man in the world!” Moss cried.

“Sh!” whispered Imogene. “He might hear you!”

“You’re right. I don’t want to foil the plan.”

“What do I do if I don’t have to go?” Richmond asked.

“Go where?” Imogene whispered.

“You know…” Moss whispered back. “ _Go._ ”

“OHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

“Don’t worry,” said Roy. “You won’t be  _able_  to go. His stare is like a knife in your back.”

Richmond chuckled. “I am aware. Those were some pretty awful days, working with Kyle Lewis.”

Moss placed his hand on Richmond’s shoulder, preparing him for battle. “Be careful in there, old chap. The doors lock quickly and easily. I wouldn’t be surprised if you found a few skeletons in there, of brave men lost in the brutality of war: man vs. lock.”

“You could say this bathroom is the home of the LOCK-NESS MONSTER!” Imogene said excitedly.

Moss turned to her, retaining a serious expression. “This is no time for jokes. Years from now, there will be a national holiday commending the lives lost in this toilet.”

Richmond pushed open the door. He was gone for about five minutes and returned looking completely unfazed.

“Well?” Roy asked.

“He’s in there,” said Richmond. “And he’s very scary. Frightened  _me_  nearly half to death.”

“If he scared Richmond, that  _really_  says something,” said Moss, which elicited a scolding nudge from Imogene.

“Alrighty then,” said Roy. “Who’s going to do the chocolate sauce?”

Everyone else recoiled with a flurry of excuses.

“I need time to recover!”

“I’ll go into Moss’s Happy Place!”

“Like I said, I got a vag.”

Roy rolled his eyes. “Well, I guess it’s me, then.”

Moss pulled Roy close to him in an embrace. “Good luck in there, Roy. It’s been an honor. You’re my best mate. I wish we could have spent more time together. I’ll make sure Jen never beats your high score on Guitar Hero to commemorate your achievements.”

Roy squirmed. “Please don’t kiss me again.”

Moss pulled away and Imogene squeezed his shoulder affectionately.

“Well,” said Roy. “I guess I’ll be off.”

He adjusted the chocolate sauce bottles in his hand, and disappeared into the cloakroom.

“Do you think he’ll be alright in there?” Richmond asked.

“Definitely not,” Moss said quietly. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t have to pretend to be disabled again.”


End file.
